


How He Became Frankenstein

by lorb



Series: Church's Market [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Fires, Hospital, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-06-13 22:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorb/pseuds/lorb
Summary: “He’s such an ugly fuck too. He’s like Frankenstein-” Frankenstein’s monster Simmons’ voice corrects in his head.“Who?”“Simmons, come on man! Who else. He has that creepy eye thing going and I’m not here to slam down on cripples, but the fake hand shit just bugs me out.” Tucker's words make Grif’s blood rise. “Like he’s already ugly enough as it is, but the hand and the eye? Someone really lost the good looks lottery.”“Tucker, you need to shut your fucking mouth.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series in which the Reds and Blues work at a grocery store together. I highly suggest reading Part 1, How Church's Market Opens Up to get a better scope on this fic!   
> This one is all Grimmons and is fairly angsty, but not without it's fluff moments and also it's steamy ones!

One of the few saving graces of the opening shift was that it was dead in the store. There was truly nothing to do so the managers couldn’t even complain when Grif posts up on his stool and takes tallies for every time Caboose gets scared when someone walks through the door. Because so few people come in, he’s always shocked and his “Hi welcome to Church’s!” is preceded with a little yelp. Since the deli was in the back of the store, Grif can only tell what’s happening up front from the resonance of Caboose’s voice. So far, two hours in, Grif has had one customer, an old woman who needed her deli meat cut  _ just a bit thinner, dear.  _

It leaves a lot of time for sitting back and talking with Tucker, who leans over the glass, “Do you think they’ll hire any ladies some time? It’s a total sausage fest this shift.” Grif doesn’t really care either way but he nods sleepily. He’s only half listening.

“And at least Sonja was here until your guy Simmons took her shifts. I mean don’t get me wrong, I know she’s like, 50, but if she was down there’s enough Tucker to go around you know?”

If Grif leans around the corner could he maybe spy out the one open cashier lane? He doubts it, but maybe it’s worth a try. He wonders if Simmons is on the other side wondering the same thing. He’s deep in thought when he realizes that Tucker is still talking.

“He’s such an ugly fuck too. He’s like Frankenstein-”  _ Frankenstein’s monster  _ Simmons’ voice corrects in his head.

“Who?” 

“Simmons, come on man! Who else. He has that creepy eye thing going and I’m not here to slam down on cripples, but the fake hand shit just bugs me out.” Tuckers words make Grif’s blood rise. “Like he’s already ugly enough as it is, but the hand _and_ the eye? Someone really lost the good looks lottery.”

“Tucker, you need to shut your fucking mouth.” Grif keeps his voice level, but he’s unconsciously flexing his fingers into and out of a fist. 

“Woah man, don’t get worked up. I’m just saying that he-”

“Tucker!” He doesn’t bother keeping his voice level anymore. “You can make fun of his voice, his hair, his stupid fucking personality, but you do NOT make fun of Simmons’ goddamn glass eye or prosthetic arm.” Grif figures Tucker’s lucky that the glass case is between them. Regardless, he’s still face to face with him.

“Why are you so defensive about it, Jesus.” Tucker backs down nonetheless.

“It’s nothing. It’s just… common decency.” Grif had never had common decency before, and Tucker knows it. Both men look up as they hear Caboose scream another greeting.

“I should get back to work.”

“Yeah, you should.” Grif snaps. Tucker may have dropped the subject, but Grif knows he won’t lose it quite so easily.

 

Back at Cardinal’s, Simmons and Grif were a common occurrence. In fact, it was more odd to find the two not together. Grif had been a bagger when he was 16 and kept to himself. But when he was 20 Simmons came along. He was a college kid, just trying to make some extra money for whatever college kids needed money for (Grif sure didn’t know). The red haired 18 year old didn’t care for Grif, and it was obvious. Simmons sucked up to Sarge the moment he walked in, and watching Grif constantly mouth off at him drove him crazy. Their tension resolved itself seemingly out of nowhere when Grif was transferred to the deli. Suddenly, Simmons found any excuse to be near Grif. 

Their friendship was born out of mutual mocking and an amiable sense between them. But for Grif, there was a lot more. He didn’t know when it started but one night he had been laying in bed, absentmindedly stroking himself and he couldn’t kick the image of his awkward coworker. But Simmons wasn’t gay and Grif didn’t want to ruin the friendship they had. He shoved down any romantic feelings and gave in to the rare and occasional fantasy.

That is until Grif  found himself in Simmons’ arms and couldn’t look away. Grif could remember the incident well. He had been following Simmons around the store giving him shit as he fixed each and every shelf’s display. Simmons had been the acting manager that week since Sarge was out of town at a gun show. It was fairly obvious he was nervous about doing well, so naturally, Grif was a few feet behind him moving cans and knocking over boxes just to drive Simmons insane. 

Simmons was tall enough to reach the top shelf, but Grif was not. He decided it made Simmons too happy to watch him struggle to reach the boxes up top. So Grif had clambered up the bottom two shelves, knocking over boxes of pasta and cans of sauce as he did all to the sounds of Simmons’ pissed off objections.

“Stop it! Grif!” his voice was rising in time with Grif’s actual ascent. “Knock it off, seriously!” 

Grif turned to make a smart ass comment back, but in the motion, his foot slipped and he felt the severe weight of gravity fighting against him.

He braced for the impact but it was softened by Simmons’ arms. Grif was locked in on his pale face and the moment seemed to stretch on until eternity. He could see the brown specks in his green eyes, he could count the freckles on his forehead. He could see the stubble under his sideburns, where Simmons had somehow managed to miss while shaving. He could see the small cracks on his lips, and the way he flushed bright red. But the moment was broken as Simmons legs buckled beneath him and the pair fell to the floor. 

Simmons’ arms were still around Grif. He was still looking into his face, no, his lips. Simmons was staring at his lips. 

“I want you.” Simmons whispered.

“Are you for fucking real?” Grif wasn’t sure if he was imagining it all. How many times had his brain played this scenario. He hadn't ever imagined it like this but he'd fucking take it.

“Oh god.” Simmons lifted his hands to his face trying to hide how red it was becoming. He must have heard disgust instead of just disbelief in Grif's voice. 

“Simmons did you… did you just say… you want me?” Grif was giving a half smile. 

“Why would I say that? Who would want you? You're just a fat lazy sexy fuck! Oh god! Come on Simmons! You're… you're a… doofus! I wouldn't ever want you.” Simmons’ brain was in overhaul trying to backtrack. He tried to stand up but Grif had him pinned.

“Do you want me?” Grif asked, not really looking at Simmons. “Because I could want you… if you want me.” Grif looked into his eyes clearly seeing that Simmons was overthinking. “Yes or no, right now, otherwise nothing ever happens.”

“Yes.” Simmons looked terrified but answered quickly. Grif cocked a full on smile. “I want you so bad.”

“Good.” Grif kissed Simmons, though Simmons’ lips stayed mostly stationary. Grif let his kissing go toward the edges of his lips and then onto his neck feeling an edge of success as he left small red marks on the otherwise perfect and pristine Simmons. He stayed still, though Grif could hear faint moans escaping his mouth. 

“This isn't supposed to be a one way thing.” Grif said into Simmons’ neck, trying to coax him into touching, kissing, anything. He was using all of his charm, taking on his huskiest voice and letting his hand feel Simmons’ chest. 

“I… it's so…. Exposed.” Simmons opened his hands to point out their location. Grif sighed, it was a good complaint.

“I have a place.” Grif stood up, taking hold of Simmons’ hand and trying to pull him but he felt his pause. Grif turned to see that he was staring at the very messed up shelves. “You have five minutes to fix it before this,” Grif rolled his hands down his body, “offer expires.” For emphasis he took out his phone and pointed to the time. 

Simmons jumped to it, collecting the spilled goods and rehoming them. Grif’s eyes trained themselves on his ass,  _ flat but workable.  _ Simmons’ shelf looked perfect but he continued to toy with it, moving this can a fraction of an inch and this box behind the other one. Grif peeked at his phone, three minutes down. 

“I changed my mind. Let's go. Now.” Grif didn't wait to see if Simmons would follow, he just hoped that this wasn't a dream. 

“Why are we going to the deli?” So Simmons was behind him; good.

“All the privacy in the world my man.” Grif heaved open the walk in cooler door, holding it open for Simmons, but he paused. Grif noticed the apprehension in his face.

“Grif, I’ve never done this before." Simmons blurted in a rush.

“Then I'll be gentle.” Grif grabbed Simmons by the hips and guided him into the cooler. He could have swore Simmons had actually squeaked. The door swung shut behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was cold enough in the walk-in that Grif could count the deep breaths Simmons took, watching the vapors swirl for a moment in front of his pale pink lips. Very softly, Grif let one hand rest on Simmons thigh as he leaned in closer. Simmons closed his eyes and filled his lungs. Grif sat waiting, inching closer and closer until Simmons’ knees were on either side of his hips and they were face to face.

Grif kept his hands on Simmons’ hips as he lowered himself to his knees. He ran his thumbs over his hip bones and bit his lower lip. He couldn't lie, he was probably more excited to get Simmons’ dick in his mouth than Simmons was. He looked up to make sure. He watched the blood rush to Simmons’ face, and wondered where else he could make the blood rush. Before he could fiddle with Simmons’ belt, the cashier dropped himself to the ground, confusing Grif.

It was cold enough in the walk-in that Grif could count the deep breaths Simmons took, watching the vapors swirl for a moment in front of his pale pink lips. Very softly, Grif let one hand rest on Simmons thigh as he leaned in closer. Simmons closed his eyes and filled his lungs. Grif sat waiting, inching closer and closer until Simmons’ knees were on either side of his hips and they were face to face.

“Are you completely sure no one will find us in here? And even if they don’t, there’s no cameras? And there’s no one to-” Simmons spoke out like a lightning bolt, practically yelling in Grif’s face.

“Simmons, I am completely sure that we’re perfectly hidden in here. I am completely sure that the only other staff in the store is Donut, and I am completely sure that he won’t notice or care that we’ve both disappeared.” Grif leaned back on his knees. “But you know, if you don’t want to, we can just hang out.”

“I’m sorry.” Simmons looked down at his hands.

“There’s a hierarchy, right? I’d rather be fucking than fucking off, but I’d rather be fucking off than working.” Grif smiled and pushed some hair out of his face. “And I’d definitely rather do it with you… nerd.” Apparently that was the line and Grif had just brought them over it.

“Oh fuck it.” Simmons bridged the small gap between them, smashing his face against Grif’s in an unceremonious kiss. Almost immediately Grif could feel Simmons’ tongue against his lips, aggressive and a bit lost. Pulling back, Simmons stared wide-eyed at Grif, maybe embarrassed, maybe ashamed. “Sorry.”

 _Definitely embarrassed._ Thought Grif. He rubbed his nose a little. “For what?” He asked.

“I’m just, I’m not, I haven’t, I don’t really, I’m… sorry.” Simmons started to settle in with his back against the wall. He covered his face and shook his head. “Shit. I’m fucking everything up.”

“Simmons, when you said you’d never done this before you meant, like, with a dude, right?” Grif could feel a bit of giddiness bubbling up in him. “Or like, never never?” He laughed a little, then he laughed a lot. “Oh my god, Simmons, you fucking virgin! Man, more than that! What’s less than a virgin?!”

“Shut up, asshole! There was a girl when I was 17. We messed around!”

“What once and she never let you touch her again?!” The laughs just kept coming even though Simmons wasn’t finding it funny at all.

“Shut up!”

“Wait, wait…” Grif caught his breath. “Was her name Pamela?”

“What, no. It was Mol-”

“Pamela HANDerson!” Simmons was standing up and Grif reached out, grabbing his ankle.

“Let go cockbite.”

“I’ll only bite if you ask.” And Grif gave him that smirk, the smirk that made Simmons melt.

“Her name was Molly, we dated for a year, there was some making out and some definite rubbing. She was very nice but things didn’t really work out.” Simmons’ eyes locked onto the third shelf, firmly staring away from Grif. “I couldn’t _do anything_ for her and I probably couldn’t _do anything_ for you so we shouldn’t _do anything anyway_.”

“Simmons sit the fuck down. If you want me to suck your cock, I’ll suck your cock. Nothing expected or required. Just one dude doing another dude a solid, a brojob.” Simmons rolled his eyes but he sat back down. A good step, but they weren’t quite there yet. “If you don’t want me to suck your cock, then I don’t suck your cock. It’s really that simple.”

“I don’t want to owe you.”

“That’s not how sex works, dumbass.” Grif scooted over to sit directly next to him. “You aren’t there yet though, so we can talk about it later, ok?” Grif slid his arm around Simmons’ shoulder.

“Thank you.” Simmons leaned his head onto Grif’s shoulder exhaling loudly.

“Can I at least show you how to kiss? Because you fucking suck at it.” Simmons shoved Grif in the side but smiled at him. “Also because I really want to kiss you.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“Just one last thing;” Grif turned to face Simmons, putting a hand to his cheek,  “How many times did you kiss that girl anyway? Like once? Because, dude.”

“Asshole.” Simmons still turned his face toward Grif’s, waiting to be kissed. Grif felt giddy.

“So here’s the thing, like 8 times out of 10-”

“4 out of 5 then” It was Simmons turn to smirk.

“Fucking- Simmons. Please.” Grif grimaced for just a moment. “ _8 times out of 10_ you want to go in gentle.” Grif bent his head slightly to the left and puckered his lips a bit. He wanted to keep going, but he pulled back slowly.

“What about the other 2 times?” Of course Simmons had to get the full figures.

“That’s right before the cock sucking and you already opted out of that lesson.”

“Ah, right. Can I take a raincheck?” Grif leaned back in to kiss him again, this time a little less gentle. There was something he just found so irresistible about Simmons. Of course it made no sense. Grif had always been open to anyone, but most of those anyone’s were similarly minded and definitely not wound-up type A’s that got nervous and worked up over a little bit of action. But in Simmons, Grif found it downright seductive.

“For the record, I like your beak of a nose, but you need to be aware of it. Make sure that you’re leaning your head enough.” Simmons turned his head more and gave Grif another kiss. This time sloppy, but much less forceful. “Yeah that’s good. And don’t go too early on the tongue. Just because I open my mouth doesn’t mean shove your whole fucking tongue in there. If you’re not sure, wait for me to do it first.”

It didn’t take long for Grif to let the instructions go to the wayside and for the kissing to stand on its own. With each touch of their lips, Simmons got better. He mimicked Grif’s movements at first, nervous that he would do something wrong but eventually even he forgot the tutorial part of it. Grif swiftly maneuvered himself so he was straddling Simmons. His eyes flashed a moment of hesitation but then his hands were deeply entangled in Grif’s hair. Two large hands grasped Simmons’ jaw, tilting it upward; a thumb swiped across his lips. Simmons felt good in Grif’s hands, like this was how it was always meant to be. It made Grif feel good all over.

They were sliding down as they continued to kiss until Simmons’ back was on the cold floor, and Grif knelt over him. His hands disentangled themselves from Grif’s hair and he wrapped his arms around Grif’s neck,  pulling him in. Grif hoped that he would never have to let go. He was excited for the prospects, and he hoped that Simmons was also feeling the air of enamorment.

Grif looked into Simmons’ eyes “God, you are handsome.” Simmons blushed.

“Nobody ever really calls me handsome.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, your ears are fucking ridiculous, man. But your eyes, I could stare into your eyes all day. And when I’m doing that I don’t notice your ears, so you see how I could find you han-”.

“Asshole.” Simmons pushed Grif’s face in a playful knock. Grif smirked and leaned back down to continue kissing him, but it was Simmons who got to smirk now. “Ah, now you want more, huh? Who’s the stupid virgin now?”

“It’s still you.” Grif countered.

Simmons pushed his face upward to kiss Grif hard. He let his hands wander towards Grif’s hips, pulling them down closer to his own. Grif wanted so badly for their bodies to be touching. Tentatively at first, Grif lowered his body, slowly pulsing his hips towards Simmons. He was greeted with his dick, harder, and frankly, bigger, than Grif had expected.

“Shit” Grif looked down at Simmons who was looking up concerned. “No, no, it’s a good shit. But still, _shit.”_ Simmons kissed him again even harder still.

“Hey, ugh, Grif?” Simmons said when they broke for a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Is this one of those 2 out of 10 times?” Simmons smiled meekly, somehow the sexiest thing Grif had ever seen. He slid down Simmons’ body. His hands swiftly undid Simmons’ pants and reached into his briefs, pulling his cock out.

“ _Shit._ ” Grif intoned one more time. Simmons leaned up on his elbows to look concerned one more time, “I promise, it’s a good _shit._ Simmons, you’re, ugh,” Grif couldn’t break his eye contact with Simmons’ exposed dick. “I’ll tell you later.” Grif wrapped his hand around his cock while he lowered his mouth to its head. As he started to test his tongue against it, there was a loud sound like something exploding from beyond the walk-in cooler. Grif and Simmons locked eyes.

“ _Shit.”_ And they both knew it wasn’t a good shit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, something’s wrong. Why don’t you go check the back and I’ll go up front, yell if you find anything.” Simmons took off running, leaving Grif with his plan. Grif jogged toward the back of the store. Nothing seemed amiss out in the open, so he headed for the hidden section of the store; the storage and breakroom. When he pushed the door open, smoke billowed out.

They scrambled to get up, Simmons hastily put himself away and zipped his pants as they bolted for the door. 

“Donut?!” Simmons yelled as he looked back and forth frantically. None of the sprinklers were going off so it was probably a good sign things were controlled. 

“Maybe he’s playing a prank on us? Like watching a video or he played a sound effect over the PA system?” Grif wasn’t sold on his own idea, but he didn’t see or hear anything.

“No, something’s wrong. Why don’t you go check the back and I’ll go up front, yell if you find anything.” Simmons took off running, leaving Grif with his plan. Grif jogged toward the back of the store. Nothing seemed amiss out in the open, so he headed for the hidden section of the store; the storage and breakroom. When he pushed the door open, smoke billowed out. Caught by surprise, Grif coughed and turned on his heels.

“SIMMONS! Simmons back here!” Grif saw Simmons’ lanky silhouette between the aisles. He turned running back to Grif, still far enough away when Grif shouted, “I’m gonna find Donut!” 

Pulling his shirt over his nose and squinting his eyes, Grif braced the smoke and set off. He couldn’t see anything. The smoke was dense and none of the lights were on in the back, but there was an orange glow from around the corner.  _ Fuck.  _ It was the breakroom. In the middle of this behemoth of a store was a seperate little building, it had its own ceiling and walls and right now smoke was seeping out of the cracks around the door. The window he had questioned a million times (it was an interior wall? Why have a window to the stockroom?) showed the chaos inside. This close, he could smell gas. As he ran to peer into the window, he could hear the interior fire alarm going off.  _ Cheap fucking bastards, lot of good that one did.  _ Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed 9-1-1. 

“Where is he, where’s Donut?” Simmons burst in, coming up beside him. 

“I don’t know, I don’t-“ Grif was cut off by the operator,  _ 9-1-1, what is your emergency?  _ “There’s a fire. In the backroom of Cardinal’s market. We need firefighters here, now. It’s only the break room right now but-”

“Sir, have you left the building? You need to get out.” Grif accepted the grim fate and grabbed Simmons arm, but he could already tell his friend had made a choice.

“Dick. We have to go.” Simmons shook off his grasp and ran toward the door, grabbing the handle and pulling it open. “FUCK.” Grif hung up and followed after him. With the door open, the flames shot out. Simmons pushed forward and Grif took a few steps in, putting his right arm in front of him to ward off some of the heat but it was just too damn hot. He cursed and shot back out, feeling the intense sting on his arm. It would have been overwhelming if he weren’t so worried about Simmons.

“Dick! Get out of there!” He shouted over the sounds of the fire. There was a much louder cracking sound from within. Hands in his hair, Grif turned around and paced, chewing his bottom lip. 

“Oh god, oh god, Simmons.” The fire was starting to spread, leaping from the open door to a spilled pile of boxes near the room.  _ YOU FUCK.  _ Grif saw one pink converse shoe peeking out from under the spill. He ran toward it, pulling on Donut’s legs until he was farther away from the fire. Half of his face was marred but he seemed mostly alright. “Dick, Dick, he’s out here, come back out!” Staring into the fire, he could make out Simmons figure. His body turned and he started toward the entrance, but something beat him to it. Part of the ceiling collapsed on top of him. 

Grif started his charge in but he could hear the sirens. He had never been so thankful for how close the fire department was to the store before. He ran to the exit, putting all his strength into hauling open the garage door that allowed for drop-offs. The truck pulled into the lot and Grif waved his arms over his head, signalling where to park. He ran back in, dragging Donut to the door. A fireman with a large mustache and a beer belly came up to him.

“No. Go in there, he’s still in there, you have to get him!” Grif was crying.

“How many people?” The firefighters were connecting the hose and others were running in. An ambulance pulled up beside the engine.

“Just one, but you have to get him! The ceiling collapsed!” Grif started back in, but the firefighter held him back.

“We’ve got it from here, son, go see the paramedic, help your friend.” The man gestured to Donut lying unconscious on the ground and turned back to the force, dictating orders.

A paramedic came up to him and Grif helped her lift Donut and carry him to the ambulance. The paramedic, a young woman, gave him oxygen and let him sit on the tail of the ambulance. He watched as another ambulance pulled up. Jumping into action they carried a stretcher into the building. They returned to the ambulance with a lanky figure atop the stretcher, closed the doors and took off in a hurry. 

Beside the bright lights from the firetruck and its accompanying sounds, everything seemed too normal. The store looked like it always did, the fire didn’t even touch it’s industrial structure. But that stupid little breakroom, a goddamn transplanted room into the back of a warehouse… He let his head fall into his hands.  _ What if he’s dead?  _

“Your friend’s ok.” Grif looked up at the paramedic. A flicker of hope passed through him until he realized she was meaning Donut.

“Donut’s not my friend.” He snarled. 

“Fine, he’s not your friend. But we should take both of you to the hospital though, just to be sure.” Grif relented and clambered into the back, sitting on the bench staring at Donut. 

She monitored his vitals and applied salves and bandages to the side of Donut’s face.  _ It’s all his fault.  _ He couldn't really hide his contempt, instead just staring down at him with his lips tensed. But then, like a sly whisper barely heard as it was shared behind a hand, it slithered to his conscious: _ it's all my fault.  _ Donut had only tried to get away, it wasn't his fault he collapsed. It was Grif who hadn't checked the surrounding area. It was Grif who didn't stop Simmons from going in. It was Grif who hadn't gone in and pulled him out. 

If he was dead, Grif was a murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAVE SOME ANGST. I feel like I should have more to say about this chapter, but I suppose I don't. 
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to suggest prompts or ideas for additions to this AU series, please let me know! I have a few but I'd love to write some more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only took Grif six minutes to find the ICU unit on the third floor of the hospital. But the new obstacle was that the nurses wouldn’t let him into the room. Grif cursed himself for going straight to the nurse. He should have just found the room and went in, no problem. But he was in such a hurry, he needed to know where Simmons was right in that instant. But now he was here, sitting in the waiting room having a glaring match with the head nurse.

The ambulance stopped and Grif got out, watching as a team of doctors got Donut out and the paramedic gave the wrap on him. Apparently she suspected a concussion but the cause was unknown. 

“What about him?” Grif looked up, suddenly aware that the doctor was talking about him.

“He's pretty distracted, wouldn't let me look at him. He took oxygen but I couldn’t treat the burns on the right side of his body. Definite smoke inhalation though." She gave a sympathetic glance back. “Do you know what happened with the ambulance that came before us?”

“One man, severe burns all over the body, crush injury to the left arm... He didn't look too hot. They went straight to the OR.” The paramedic thanked him then turned back to Grif.

“Good luck.” She squeezed his shoulder, “Just trust he’ll pull through.” She jumped back into the ambulance and it drove off, leaving Grif standing outside the emergency entrance with the doctor and his thoughts. _ Severe burns, crush injury, OR.  _ Simmons was getting operated on and Grif was arguing with some doctors over treating him.

He knew that he would never be able to afford the hospital bills, even if he wasn't supporting his kid sister.  _ Fuck. Kai, what time was it? Did she get to school? Did she know about the fire? Was she worried? _ He grasped at his pocket only to realize he had left his cell phone in the chaos at Cardinal’s. He scanned his surroundings for any sign of a public phone, pausing when he realized that there were two cops walking toward him. Cops were never a good sign for the Grif family and his blood began to freeze.

On the one hand, he had done nothing wrong, but on the other hand, did that even matter? With a complex past with the law enforcement, he had learned to become defensive and maybe even offensive. He locked eyes with the cop in the lead, feeling a snarl build up on his lips. However, he was lucky enough that they only needed to confirm identities. They needed to make some phone calls, which caused a moment of panic. Were they letting Simmons’ family know he had died? Was Simmons almost or fully dead? Against his better judgement he let this fear out, desperately asking for more information. And against the cops best judgement, she told him that he was in the Intensive Care Unit. And though the ICU meant he was in a critical condition it was infinitely better than morgue. 

It only took Grif six minutes to find the ICU unit on the third floor of the hospital. But the new obstacle was that the nurses wouldn’t let him into the room. Grif cursed himself for going straight to the nurse. He should have just found the room and went in, no problem. But he was in such a hurry, he needed to know where Simmons was right in that instant. But now he was here, sitting in the waiting room having a glaring match with the head nurse. 

The longer he sat, the more he felt the weight of his eyelids. It was impossible to just keep pushing through. How long had it been since he had woke up? Got up at noon, went to work at 9, went to the walk-in around 2, and time had disappeared since then. But according to the hospital, it was now 9:26 am (He really hoped Kai had made it to school). It may have been simple addition, but Grif wished Simmons was there to do it for him. 

In his mind, he kept seeing Simmons the moment before he ran in the fire, like a cursed loop. The worst version of _ Groundhog’s Day _ imaginable. He heard Simmons’ scream, the fear and panic coming to life- but he hadn’t screamed, had he? No, definitely not. Then where was the screaming coming from? 

Grif sat up like lightning had hit him to the core. He knew Simmons’ voice, even when it was that strangled and filled with intense emotion. The nurse at the station darted down the hall with Grif was close behind her. The sound got louder until they were in the room. 

The man sitting in the bed was barely Simmons. He was wrapped in bandages that obscured most of his face except for one eye and most of his mouth. His right arm was suspended but the left was flailing, pushing away anyone who got close enough while his legs thrashed. Grif realized, Simmons wasn’t just screaming, he was near hyperventilating. It was a state Grif had seen Simmons in enough: the onset of a panic attack.

“Simmons!” Grif shoved his way to the bedside, commanding Simmons’ attention. “Hey, how many hours did you work yesterday?”

Simmons continued to sob, his breathing far too jagged.

“What day do shipments come in?” 

“Wednesday” Simmons choked out between rough breaths, but Grif could tell it hurt him to do.

“Think about what you had for dinner last night, every little thing.” Grif grabbed his free hand and watched as Simmons chest started to rise and fall rhythmically. He was still whimpering in agony and the squeeze on Grif’s hand was painfully tight. “What’s the matter?”

“Hurts...everywhere.” 

“Isn’t that your job?  _ Help him. _ ” Grif snapped at the nurse he had been glaring at.

“Where?” Simmons’ uncovered eye flickered back and forth.

“In the hospital. There was an accident.”

“Donut!” He was too animated and Grif could see the pain flash across his face before Simmons yelped.

“He’s fine, mostly. A big scar on his face probably, but he’s too confident anyway, he could be taken down a peg or two.” 

“You?” 

“Some smoke in my lungs and a burn or two, but I’m also fine. Everyone’s fine.”

“Sarge?”

“He wasn’t there.” Grif saw the panic setting back in. “You won’t be in trouble, I promise. And if he flips out, blame it on me.”

“Always… what abou…” Simmons was starting to zone out. Hopefully the pain medication was setting in.

“We called your parents already, sweetheart.” The nurse said from his other side. Grif groaned. 

“My pa-you called-why did- they’re!” His face clenched up again from the effort.

“Why don’t you go screw something else up!” Grif flipped to face her, “Yeah, go on, get out of here.” But then, on second thought, “Are they coming?” Grif whispered.

“His mother.”

“Just your mom, man. You survived fire you can survive her.” But Simmons was already gone. His eye was closed and his grip had loosened. Grif turned to the nurse. “What the fuck is going on? What did you do to him?”

The nurse frowned. Maybe Grif shouldn’t have been so hostile. Another nurse was apparently oblivious as she looked at a chart in the room. “Treated burns to the right side of the body, treated wound on right arm and,” she paused, looking over at Simmons, then to Grif. “Removed his right eye.”

“Did what?!” Grif stared in horror at Simmons’ face. What could have happened that required removal of an eye?

“You’d have to talk to the surgeon who did it, and you can’t because you’re not family. Now you need to go back to the waiting room, sir.” The original nurse spoke up.

“I’m not leaving.” Grif sat down heavy. She would have to drag him out if she needed him gone that badly. 

The nurse knew a battle was useless and went back to her station, grumbling.The other nurse worked around Grif, making sure everything was functioning and Simmons was doing as well as could be. To Grif though, there was nothing in this room, in this world. Only Simmons with his bandages and burns and apparently one eye. 

Grif sighed, remembering what he had told Simmons earlier that day. He could have stared into Simmons’ eyes forever and now he never would. How many months had he spent pining for him? How many wasted moments had Grif stared at Simmons instead of just making a move? For so  long, Grif had thought about, imagined what it would be like to finally have each other. He hadn’t imagined the day would end like this. God, he was so tired. 

Grif nodded off, holding Simmons’ hand and resting his head next to Simmons on the bed.

* * *

 

Simmons’ mother came as soon as she could. Considering the distance between them, she made incredible time. She was standing in the doorway, staring in at her son and the scruffy, dirty man whose head rested on her Richard’s leg. She was thankful that her husband couldn’t come and wouldn’t be here to see this.

“Excuse me?” She made her way over to stand across from Grif, carefully considering if she wanted to tap his shoulder or not. When Grif didn’t move, she cleared her throat.

“Yeah yeah, I’m awake.” Grif was clearly not awake.

“Excuse me.” She was still using her manners, but an air of frustration and bitterness came through. Grif sat up, realizing that the female voice was definitely not Kai. “Who are you?”

“Ugh,” Grif groaned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before responding. When he saw the awkwardly thin red haired woman before him, he was thankful for his pause. He was always ready to snap off, but for this time, he recognized that it was not the right call. “You must be Mrs. Simmons. I’m Grif, I work with Simmons, er, Dick.” Grif offered her his hand but she simply smiled. 

“You must be very good  _ friends  _ with Richard. _ ”  _  There was something about the way she said it that Grif recognized as a threat. “Thank you for sitting with him but I think we’ll be ok from here.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you some time.” Grif stood, taking in a solid look at Simmons. “Can I, ugh, ask something?” She gave no sign of acknowledgement.  “What’s wrong? They wouldn’t tell me.”

“Well, yes Dear. You’re not his family.” Grif was getting fed up of hearing this, he looked up at the woman.

“I’m just worried. I care about my  _ friend  _ Dick.So I’d like to know what’s wrong with him. Like any  _ friend  _ would.” He couldn’t take it anymore. He just wanted to go home and go to sleep. “I’ll be back tomorrow to check in on him.” He didn’t wait for her response. He turned on his heels and left as quickly as he could.

So Grif took four buses home. He scolded Kai for not going to school, and took a long shower. Normally he would get at Kai for wasting hot water, but he felt he deserved just one self indulgent moment after the chaos of the past 24 hours. 

He couldn’t shake the image of Simmons in that bed. The panic in his eye as it shot around the room. He was certain that he would never be able to forget the sound Simmons had made. It was another level of torture and fear than Grif had never experienced. He wished he could just take it away from him. Maybe split the pain in half and share it, but no matter what take some of it from Simmons. What would happen now? Would his parents take him home to recover at their local hospital? Would they let him come back to college or work at Cardinal’s? There were so many variables up in the air right now. There was no way to guess the final outcome, but he was certain it wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t, could it?

He was broken from his thoughts as Kai beat on the door. She was yelling about something. Maybe if he waited long enough she would stop… She didn’t.

Grif got out of the shower and put on an old tee shirt and sweats. He opened the door, ready to yell. Kai wrapped her arms around him and Grif stood, shocked.

“Why didn’t you tell me there was a fire? I just thought you were fucking and lost track of time.” She looked at him, tears in her eyes. Grif often forgot that Kai could have a sweet side. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling comfort in her presence. Everyone knew that she was both his weakness and strength. Grif had been hardened fighting for her. There were many people who said he couldn’t be in charge of a teenager when he was only 18, but when he phased out of the system there was no way he was leaving Kai in it. So he had fought and managed to become her legal guardian. And now they lived together and it was never easy but he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Kai pulled back and spotted his arm. The burn was worse and she gasped. There were blisters, puffed up and ready to pop, bright red zones that looked vaguely fake but knowing they were real made it that much scarier. 

“How did you not get treated for that!” Kai knew. Grif had made plenty of sacrifices for them and physical pain would just have to be another one. She released her brother from her hold, allowing her hand to pull his dripping wet hair for a second. 

“It’s longer than mine now!” She turned around to show him. “Are you growing it out for sex? Doesn’t it feel good when someone pulls on it-”

“Kaikaina! I’m still your brother.” He plugged his ears and made his way to his bedroom. He could hear her laughing in the hallway. It wasn’t for sex, Simmons had just mentioned that he liked it long some time ago and Grif was hopeful to feel Simmons’ hands absentmindedly running through it. 

Lying in bed with the lights off, he imagined the way the light filtering in from the walkway outside would play against Simmons’ pale skin. He would bitch about the smell and the piles of dirty clothes, but he wouldn’t get out of bed. He would let Grif kiss the freckles on his arms and chest and quietly stroke his hair. He would change the music six times and he would fall asleep with his head rested against Grif’s chest, and Grif would fall asleep looking at him. But that night he fell asleep where the only weight on his chest was his fear that Simmons would never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Mrs. Simmons, the lesser evil of the Simmons parents. Await the coming of doom in the form of Mr. Simmons.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, was it... Devon?” Mrs. Simmons put her phone down.
> 
> “Dexter. Any better today?” Grif said, motioning to Simmons.

After a few calls to the store, Grif was assured that he wasn’t needed for the next few days. Rent was paid so he wouldn’t need to worry with those missing hours on the next paycheck. He walked Kai to school and picked up the bus that stopped in front. Life would be so much easier when she could get a full time job and he wouldn’t have to count the hours and paychecks so closely. Boarding the bus he fantasized about moving out of their apartment and getting a proper place to stay.

He made his multiple bus transfers and disembarked at the hospital, steeling himself for the inevitable time he would spend with Mrs. Simmons. He had no problem getting to Simmons room, though the nurse on the floor did recognize him and gave a certain look that made Grif feel very smug.

Mrs. Simmons was sitting in the chair next to Simmons’ bed, playing some game on her phone and looking very stressed out. Simmons didn’t seem any different from the previous day, arm still slung up and face still bandaged.

“Hey,” Grif kept his hands in his pockets. Believe it or not, she seemed relieved to see him.

“I’m sorry, was it... Devon?” Mrs. Simmons put her phone down.

“Dexter. Any better today?” Grif said, motioning to Simmons.

“Hmm,” She fidgeted in her chair, then settled in. “No. He woke up in pain-”

“Again? You’d think they’d figure this shit out.” Grif was ready to find the nurse again.

“They upped the dosage of the pain medication. Dexter, I’m going to call my husband. Will you stay with Richard until I return?” She collected her things, clearly used to only asking as a formality.

“Sure, just me and Dick.” They didn’t use names this much, it felt wrong to say it. Grif watched her leave then took her seat. “Simmons, I brought that comic you kept begging me to read, maybe I could read it now if that’s fine.” He pulled it out of his back pocket. It had been rolled and shoved in, probably hurting its condition to the point it was valueless. He opened to the first page, looking at the high color contrasts and speech bubbles. One of the heroes had red hair and freckles. Grif figured why it was probably a personal favorite of Simmons.

He read the first few panels, hyperfocused on the words when he heard a movement from the bed. He tore his eyes up to see that Simmons was awake, but this time he didn’t seem to feel any pain. In fact he seemed entirely oblivious to everything.

“Simmons? Dude, sit still!” Grif stood up and grabbed his loose hand before it ripped off the bandages on his face.

“I can’t see!” Simmons had never sounded so exasperated. Grif figured it wasn’t the time to tell him why he couldn’t see out of his right eye. “OH, hi Grif!” Simmons gave a dopey smile before, _did he? Was he blowing a kiss?_ Grif laughed loudly.

“You’re fucking high!” He realized.

Simmons tapped his fingers in Grif’s hands, smile unveiling basically all of his teeth. Suddenly Simmons seemed to realize his left hand was up in the sling. He attempted to lower it but to no avail. Simmons grunted in the effort.

“Don’t worry about it, man. Do you want anything?” Grif put one hand lightly on Simmons’ shoulder.

“Ughhh, yeah.” Simmons rolled his head to look at Grif while he reached up to signal for a nurse. “You gotta finish.”

“I just started reading it, I’ll finish later.” Grif sat back down, but pulled the chair to the bedside.

“Not the comic book! Idiot… _me. You need to finish me._ ” Simmons did his best whisper but it was loud enough Grif was sure anyone in the hallway would have heard.

“How about later?” Grif wished he could record this, but he was still without his phone.

“Grif!” Simmons shouted. A nurse walked in and Grif cut off Simmons to explain the situation.

“He just woke up. And I’d like whatever drugs you have him on.” Grif looked to see Simmons nodding vigorously, though he could tell that Simmons was clueless as to what he was nodding about. He started to laugh.

“Grif!” He seemed to remember he had had a point to make. “I have questions…”

“Sure.”

“About,” Simmons eyed the nurse who was doing a once over of his charts. “Sex.” At this, the nurse cut off a laugh.

“Yeah?” Grif couldn’t let this opportunity go.

“About gay sex.” The nurse stopped trying to stifle the laugh. “So you just put it in there? Doesn’t that hurt?!”

“Not if you do it right.”

“Do you do it right?”

“How about I tell you later.”

“How about you show me now.” Grif would have guessed that Simmons was trying to wink but with the half bandaged face he was only blinking incredibly slow. Before Grif could respond, Simmons had lost interest, watching the nurse as she messed with the IV’s hanging above him.

“Mr. Simmons?” Simmons looked at her. “I want to do some tests on your arm, ok? Just tell me if you feel anything.” The nurse took him through a series of trials, asking if he felt this, could move that, and where there was pain.

“How’s it looking?” Grif did his best to sound like he was privy to the information. The nurse sighed.

“Really, I’m not the doctor, but not well. I don’t see how it could ever improve. And even if it improved to be functioning, the nerves are just, well, a mess. I can’t imagine it wouldn’t hurt him every day. It isn’t my place to say, but he would get a better quality of life with a prosthetic.” Grif tried to swallow all of the information. How could Simmons lose an eye and an arm from one stupid accident? A stupid accident that Grif still felt responsible for.

“A prosthetic what?” Simmons blinked up at the nurse.

“Arm, Dear,” Mrs. Simmons’ voice came from the door. She seemed to have a habit of this, Grif noticed. “But not to worry, it won’t come to that.” She turned to face the nurse, “He will be perfectly fine with his _God-given_ natural limbs.”

Grif scoffed. “Why would you limit his life like that? If it doesn’t function, cut the damn thing off and let him live his life. Jesus! I don’t think God cares if his arm is plastic, metal, or fucking jello.”

“But people will. And why would you want to subject him to the judgements of others?”

“They’re already judging! Look at him, he’s fucking 6’3” and weighs 130 pounds! He can’t talk to women and he’s the biggest fucking nerd this side of the galaxy! So what if he doesn’t have his _god-given natural limb._ Fuck God, we’re alive right now, let him live!” Grif was standing now and pulling up every inch he could.

“Frankly, it doesn’t matter what you think.” Mrs. Simmons wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“You’re right, what the fuck do you think, Simmons?” Grif was still yelling when he looked back down at Simmons in the bed. He was crying, his eye flitting back and forth between his mother and Grif. “Now look what you made me do!” Grif groaned loudly, falling back into the chair.

He covered his face with one hand and kicked his legs out, sliding down. The room filled with tension and the soft sounds of Simmons’ sniffing.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten worked up, you don’t need that right now.” Grif didn’t look at him not fully ready to own up to his mistake. He sat up enough to grab the comic book and went back to reading it. Slowly, Simmons seemed to forget the uncomfortable spat and instead focused on Grif’s voice. He interjected every so often to make sure Grif understood every reference. Mrs. Simmons stood on the side of the room, clearly uncomfortable that she was being phased out of the scene. Without excusing herself, she left.

Simmons’ interjections halted as he phased into sleep, leaving Grif’s voice to echo in the otherwise silent room. He placed the comic back on the table and tapped his fingers against the armrest. _He’s going to lose his whole arm. Because_ I _didn’t find Donut._ Donut. Shit, he didn’t know what happened to Donut, was he still in the hospital or had he gone home? Was he actually ok? Grif figured he should find out. Since Simmons was asleep, he figured he could take a moment to at minimum find out Donut’s status. He tried to find the one nurse who didn’t seem to mind him.

“Is there a Franklin Donut here? In the hospital? He came in the same night we did?” He said when he found her. 

“Let me check…” Grif watched her type for a moment then something caught his eye out on the balcony. Mrs. Simmons was standing alone, an unlit cigarette clamped between here teeth. “Looks like he’s in the burn unit, they’re accepting visitors if you were wanting to go.”

“Yeah, maybe later. Thanks.” Grif gave a small smile before heading toward the balcony.

Grif whipped out the lighter he always kept on him, “I don’t know what your problem is with me.” Mrs. Simmons was startled, staring at the offered lighter. “Just take it.”

“I suppose we could both use a cigarette right now.” She grabbed it in delicate fingers and lit the one in her mouth. She breathed a sigh of relief before handing the lighter back. Grif lit his own cigarette, breathing out a length of smoke. “I haven’t smelled one of those in years.”

“Yeah, I can’t afford that stuff.” Grif nodded toward her. He didn’t like her, but he didn’t have to. They just had to make this work. He hoped that on some level she knew that too.

“You had a question of sorts, Derek?” She smiled, the damn bitch knew his name.

“Well, I have a few theories, Mrs. Simon.” He liked the way she flinched a bit. The Simmons name held too much to take from her. “So, you either have a problem with  _ me  _ being with your son, or, and here’s the one I’m thinking, you have a problem with me  _ being  _ with your son.” Grif tried to read for a reaction but she was solid, only raising her eyebrows mildly in a taunting so-that’s-what-you-think way. “So I thought I could ease your mind a little if that’s the case; we aren’t together. We really are just coworkers who get along really well.”

“Then why are you here?” She blew some smoke into the air, giving Grif a brief distraction. Why was he here? Because he knew Simmons would want him here? Because he  _ hoped _ Simmons would want him here. Because he felt somewhat responsible and needed to follow up? Because he couldn’t stand sitting at home watching TV knowing Simmons was trapped in a hospital room with Madam Nhu?

“I’m visiting our other coworker, too. Simmons is just in worse condition so I’m more worried about him.” Yeah that would probably suit her well enough. She smiled but it wasn’t pleasant. Everything about her was like ice shot to the soul, no wonder Simmons was the way he was, starved for affection and needing validation at every core. Grif would probably turn to Sarge for parental comfort too if this had been his mother.

“Well, I hope he’s well.”

“Yeah I’ll keep you updated when I come back to see Simmons.” Her smile still sat primly on the surface. “You should amputate the arm. If he isn’t going to use it. At least don’t make the decision for him.”

“Hmm.” She flicked her cigarette into the receptacle and headed for the door. “Smoking is terrible for you, Dear. You really shouldn’t expose others to the toxins.”

“Yeah sure, ok.” Grif watched her through the window as she made her way back to Simmons’ room. “Fucking bitch.”

 

Donut was happy to see him, the right side of his face covered in bandages. 

“Oh Grif! I’m so happy to see you!” His eye caught sight of Grif’s arm, badly wrapped and still obviously causing pain from the burns. “Oh no, oh boy… That was my fault right? Wow, I really screwed you on this one! You and Simmons, right? I screwed both of you guys! Screwed my two favorite men in the worst way.”

“It’s fine, Donut.” Grif sat down, trying to remind himself that Donut hadn’t had any visitors and there was a certain level of niceness he needed to achieve. “What did happen, man?”

“Well… I was going on break and I decided that I should warm up my soup, it was an Italian Wedding Soup I made from scratch! I got the website online at-” Donut recognized Grif’s expression and cut out the details- “So I turned on the oven and apparently one of the burners had had gas going for a long time and it exploded right in my face! I mean total face-shot. I was so shocked, I ran straight to find you guys but I passed out pretty quick I guess.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re ok Donut.” Grif smiled halfheartedly. A stupid fucking stove fire and Simmons was going to lose his arm and eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUM BUM BUUUUUUUUUM. So we should just end right here, right? Now you know how he became Frankenstein, no one cares about the emotional fallout or anything right? (It doesn't matter, I've already written quite a few chapters so you're getting it anyway)
> 
> Thank you again for reading and I'm glad y'all hate Simmons' mom who is absolutely not based on one of my friend's horrifying, homophobic, overly zealous, conservative, mom. (It is)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Grif… where are you?” Simmons slid down in his bed, ignoring the call. It was 8 am, meaning he had a whole other day ahead of himself. A day of staring at assignments and trying to avoid his parents at all costs. That and his reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this chapter has the first real hints of abuse. Nothing is too graphic, but it has the potential to be triggering if parental abuse is a trigger for you.

Simmons rearranges the gum display just one more time, reconsiders it, and puts it back. He straightens his blue apron and pulls his maroon tie straight. Simmons reaches out to move the Trident back down when he notices Tucker is staring at him.

“Yes?” Simmons swallows.

“What the fuck happened to you anyway?” Tucker leans on the bagging station. Subtlety has never been his strong suit. Simmons can’t think of what Tucker’s strong suit is actually.

“You’ll have to be more specific.” He puts the Trident on the bottom shelf.

“The fucking Frankenstein-”

“Frankenstein’s monster.”

“This is why no one likes you.” Simmons grimaces. “But what about it, you know, the eye, and the scars, and the arm.”

If he ignores him long enough maybe Tucker will forget his inquiry. But when Simmons turns around, Tucker is still staring at him, leaning on the checkout.

“So did you get your hand stuck up Grif’s ass and they couldn’t get it out?”

“Oh, TUCKER, no, ohmygod, Tucker! No, there’s no hands, no Grifs, you’re so funny, ha!” Simmons is laughing unnaturally and Tucker isn’t buying any of it.

“I’m bagging for you for the rest of this schedule. It’d be easier for both of us if you just tell me… You’ve seen how annoying I am, I’m the motherfucking king.” _Fuck. He’s right._

“Umm, remember that fire? At Cardinal’s?”

“Shit, you’re the ‘stable but injured’ guy?” Tucker’s eyes light up in recognition. Everyone remembered that stupid fire.

“Yeah.” Simmons’ eyes look away, begging for a customer to come through. “There was an accident, Cardinal’s team was caught in it.”

“Aw fuck, I’m an idiot. Yeah you Donut and Grif have all the scars.” Tucker shook his head. “Shit, why’s Grif so defensive if it was an accident?”

“He’s… defensive? About what?”

“About you, dude. Like a goddamn attack dog.”

“Huh.”

* * *

 

Simmons sent one more text before hiding his phone under the covers as he heard his mother on the stairs coming to his room. He tried to sit up, unsuccessfully, as she came in. Simmons swallowed, letting his eye follow her around the room while she opened the curtains and swiped the dresser for dust.

“Your father called the university, they’ll let you finish the semester on your time; something about incomplete grades or another.” She stood at the side of his bed, looking down in what Simmons perceived as disappointment. “You ought to finish it now, since you aren’t doing anything but sitting in this bed all day.”

“Hmm, yeah, YES. Good idea, Mom. I’ll get to it.” Simmons felt like he ought to punctuate the sentence with a “yes sir,” or something of the sorts.

“Yes, I’ll bring breakfast to your room, Richard.” She patted his hand and then left.

With his left hand, Simmons fished under the covers for his phone-

 

_Hello Grif_

_How is the store?_

_Did Sarge freak out?_

_What’s the weather like in BG?_

_Make sure you categorize the deli meat_

_You must be working_

_You probably aren’t working. You never work. Fatass._

_I left some gluten free pizza in the fridge you should eat it_

_I forgot the fridge is probably gone._

_Tell Donut he’s being weird at least once a day_

_Is Lopez still speaking only Spanish?_

_You should trick Lopez into admitting he knows English._

_Are you mad at me?_

_You don’t have to answer that._

_You can be mad at me._

_I don’t know what I would have done to make you mad but you’re always like that so that’s fine._

_It doesn’t bug me._

_I’m not upset._

_I’m at home. I didn’t tell you that._

_I don’t need you or anyone from BG or Cardinal’s. I have plenty of friends._

_They’re here. At home. With me._

_Don’t forget to categorize the deli meat._

 

He was coming off clingy wasn’t he? Thank god he hadn’t sent the text messages he had typed over and over. _I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I wish we could have had all night. I miss you._ But why hadn’t Grif responded? _He must regret that night. I’m such a fucking idiot._

His phone buzzed, causing him to excite. He lit it up, but then saw that it was a call from Donut.

“Grif… where are you?” Simmons slid down in his bed, ignoring the call. It was 8 am, meaning he had a whole other day ahead of himself. A day of staring at assignments and trying to avoid his parents at all costs. That and his reflection. He had fought all of the mirrors down in his room, stowing them in the linen closet.

He didn’t recognize himself anymore. Standing in the bathroom, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth, he stole a peek into the mirror. Yeah, just like it had been last time. A minefield of scars; pink skin angry and still crazy sensitive. A wad of bandages where his right bicep should have been. He could move the stump a little, but it hurt so he did his absolute best to keep completely still. He knew what was under the bandages though, black stitches and rough scars. He could feel tears welling in his left eye, drawing his attention to his face. Grif would think the eyepatch was ridiculous. He watched his reflection smile just a little, before immediately frowning at the result.

Simmons had never liked much about himself, but he had always felt he had a good smile. And now, he watched as only one side of his mouth responded to the command. He felt the tears escaping their pool as he slammed his fist into the mirror.

“FUCK.” He tried to calm his breathing but he felt so overwhelmed. Everything was going so well and then suddenly everything had become so bad. He had finally had Grif, right there. Had finally found out what his lips felt like on his skin, what his hair felt like wrapped around his fingers. He had spent a year wondering and waiting, praying Grif would make the move. And he had done it, him, Simmons, had made a move… sort of. And if he hadn’t messed it all up, if he had listened to Grif before running into that stupid fire he would probably be with him, laughing and smiling with all of his mouth and both of his eyes.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK!” He pounded the counter with his fist, feeling his chest tightening and his head go light. Simmons ripped the shower curtain open, putting his head below the faucet and letting cold water rush over himself. He let the sobs come fully, not caring about the pain his scarred flesh flared at him. He figured he deserved the pain. He had fucked it all up; Grif hated him and he had ruined his own life because he was being stupid! _Just a stupid fucking idiot like always, I deserve to feel pain and shock. This is what stupid idiots get._

“Pull yourself together, Richard!” There was a hand firmly on his neck, sending his nerves into overdrive, and pulling him out of the shower. The hand unclasped and Simmons struggled to turn around and stare up at his father.

“Dad, I-” He wiped at his eye furiously, thankful all of his hair was dripping water to mask his tears.

“Save it. You owe your mother an apology, she shouldn’t have to deal with you and that language.” Mr. Simmons inspected the sleeve of his shirt, making a tsk sound realizing it was too wet to dry. “Damnit Richard.” His voice rose and Simmons could feel his body shrinking back. “Clean up this mess and find something to make yourself useful.”

Simmons grabbed a towel and tried to dry the floor, attempting to control himself enough to not cry with his father still in the room.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, trying to hold his balance but slipping. His one hand shot out, going slick in a puddle. There was no other arm to catch him as his chest smacked onto the floor. “ _Shit._ I! No! I’m sorry!” His voice squeaked but his father was already turning red, grinding his jaw.

“I’ll get someone else to do it.” Mr. Simmons hauled his son up sparing kindness as he shoved him back into the bedroom. Simmons held in his reactions to the pain, stumbling with his father. He was just thankful to be pushed into the bed and not back toward the bathroom floor.

Simmons collapsed on the bed and watched with relief as his father slammed the door shut, hearing him bark out a call for Lydia, Simmons’ mother. He took several staggering breaths, always worried someone could barge back into his room at any second. With his chest rising and falling back in rhythm, he grabbed for his phone. He would type out that message to Grif one more time and maybe this time he could convince himself to send it.

Simmons paused. He didn’t normally get voicemails, but sure enough there was a voicemail as well as a text from Donut. The text read _He misses you._ Simmons couldn’t help but wonder who. It couldn’t be Grif, Grif was ignoring him. Grif hated him right now. _Sarge?_ Simmons knew Grif would have hit him over the head for the excitement that bubbled up at thinking Sarge was missing him. His finger hovered over the voicemail button, Simmons gulped as he pressed down.

Donut’s voice rang out, _Heya bud! We all just wanted to say we miss you and hope you’re doing alright. But Grif had a mess-_ in the background Simmons heard Grif speaking around a mouth of food (he knew that sound anywhere)- _age for you! Right Grif?_ There was some static and a bit of commotion in the background, Donut vaguely pleading with someone.

 _Yeah, um,-_ Oh god. It was Grif, that was Grif’s voice.- _So ugh, hey… I had to get a new phone. Um, fire, and all. I’ll have Donut text you the number. Um, hope you’re… ok? I guess you aren’t ok. But, ugh, get ok. Ok, um, bye._

Simmons played the message over seven times. He didn’t think he was physically capable of stopping the lopsided smile that took up residence on his face. He couldn’t be bothered to care about its brokenness either. He was just happy to hear Grif’s voice after more than a month. Grif wasn’t ignoring him. There might still be hope for them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sad sad boy Simmons. As a reference, a lot of my understanding and portrayal of anxiety is personal and the management and manifestations take (inspiration is the wrong word but I can't think of a better one) inspiration from my SO's anxiety. Which always seemed to present the way canon Simmons' does. Anyway, thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons tried not to be too excited. It was just a usual text message, a text conversation he’d had a thousand times with a guy he’d texted a million times. Yeah but that was before the walk-in. Why was he being so stupid? Jesus. He looked at the keyboard again. Talking was so damn hard.  
> “Richard!” His mother’s voice called from down the stairs. “We have visitors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm introducing an OC this chapter. She's pretty harmless so I hope no one is offended by her existence!

Simmons' fingers hovered over the keyboard on his phone.  _ Why is this so hard?  _ Texting Grif had never been a problem before, all he had to do was say what he needed to say… But why did he need to say? Sorry? Miss you? Wish you could have sucked me off more? 

_ Hi Grif _

There. No need to change anything. Simple. Just a hello. No reason to make things weird! Just a hi.  _ Oh fuck.  _ It occurred to him that Grif might think it was just some random stranger.

_ It’s Simmons. _

_ By the way. _

He considered sending another message, a simple how are you? How are things? But was that too clingy? Oh god, had he already ruined it? Was Grif going to not text him back?

**_Hey man_ **

_ Oh thank god.  _ But now what? What did he send after that? Did he bring the walk-in up? Did he talk about the hospital? Did he talk about-

**_How are you feeling?_ **

Simmons tried not to be too excited. It was just a usual text message, a text conversation he’d had a thousand times with a guy he’d texted a million times.  _ Yeah but that was before the walk-in. _ Why was he being so stupid? Jesus. He looked at the keyboard again. Talking was so damn hard.

“Richard!” His mother’s voice called from down the stairs. “We have visitors.”

“Oh! Yeah, ok, give me a few minutes!” Simmons knew that her warning meant he needed to look presentable. He ran a brush through his hair, struggled a short sleeve button up over his tank top, and started down.

Simmons recognized the voices in the dining room. 

“Hello, Aunt Susan.” He tried to ignore the blatant shock on her face. She recomposed herself, probably seeing the way her nephew had turned red.

“Richard.” A voice he hadn’t heard in awhile came from his new blind spot. Her voice was high and tight, a mockery of the formality that normally accompanied family get togethers.

“Maureen.” Simmons said in his own impression, keeping a smile down. For years, his cousin Maureen, more comfortably Marnie, had been the only reason he made it through stuffy family dinners and birthday parties. She was a goddamn Genius, but somehow not insufferable. Marnie had a lightheartedness that somehow skipped everyone else in the Simmons family. The only bad thing about her was that she was a reminder to Simmons’ dad of everything Simmons was not. 

“How are you, Dick?” Marnie ignored her aunt’s sighing at her least favorite nickname.

“I’m… ok Marnie.” He shrugged. 

“Maureen has offered to work on your prosthetic, Richard.” His mother sipped a cup of tea at the table.

“If you want it!” Marnie turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. She had a glimmer in her eyes that betrayed her excitement at the challenge.

“Maybe…” 

“Richard.” His mother warned.

“Thank you!” He squeaked. 

“We can talk details. Maybe we should…” Marnie stood. She grabbed Simmon’s good arm and pulled him out of the room. Safely upstairs, Marnie collapsed on his bed forcing Simmons to stand awkwardly next to it.

“You know I would never get away with that, it isn’t fair.” Simmons threw his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the interaction.

“I can’t help that I’m  _ wonderful.  _ People just trust me.” Marnie sat up. “How are you actually, Dick?”

He sighed, trying to ignore the question. “I’m… fine.” She gave him a look. “I’m broken, my parents are overbearing, I’m an idiot who’s ruining everything, and I can’t button my shirt!” His voice cracked as he stared down at the flaps of his unbuttoned shirt.

“Dick… We can figure some of this- woah. Your phone.” Marnie rolled over and grabbed the cellphone that was vibrating underneath her. Simmons sprung into action, reaching for it. At his excitement she pulled it back. “Oh my god. There’s a girl.” 

“It’s not a girl!” Simmons’ face was bright red, he reached again. “Marnie!” His voice raised an octave.

She passed the phone. “You have to tell me about her, at least.”

“There really isn’t a her.” Simmons mumbled as he unlocked the phone. 

**_I need to know that you’re ok._ **

He couldn’t stop the smile. Grif needed something from him. And hey, he had to oblige.

_ I’m ok. _

“Oh there’s a girl! Come on Dick!” Marnie looked like she was 16 instead of a 21 year old college grad the way she leaned on the bed trying to get the gossip. 

“He’s not a girl!”  _ Oh fuck.  _ Simmons watched her face twist for a second before he leapt at her. “It’s no one. There’s no one. I’m not into anyone!” His hand pressed into her shoulder, willing her to believe him. She wasn’t buying any of it. “You can’t tell anyone. You can’t tell your parents. My parents can’t know, my parents cannot know. Marnie-you have to  _ swear _ . My life will be over if they find out. They can’t kn-” 

“Dick!” Simmons could feel his tears before he knew he was crying. This was so important. She held everything in her hands. And suddenly Marnie’s arms were around him. “Dick, I would never out you to anyone. You’re ok, you are ok.” His body shook, but he found some comfort in his cousin’s embrace. He let his head rest on her shoulder, only a bit subconscious he was getting her shirt wet.

His mind expelled a flooding of thoughts, as though finding the one crack in his bottle of emotions. His fear of his parents, the hatred for being taken away without his knowledge, waking up without an eye or an arm, his stupidity in the fire, his inability to talk to Grif. Simmons wasn’t sure how much of his pent-up stress and pain he could drop on a cousin he hadn’t seen in two years, but Marnie just kept holding on. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice was in his ear.

“No.” Simmons wiped some of her red hair from his wet face as he pulled away. “Not at all.”

“Ok…” Marnie grabbed a tissue and passed it to him. “Will you tell me about,” she whispered, “him?”

“He’s just a guy. There’s nothing serious. We just work together. Things sort of, I don’t know, developed? Between us.” Simmons sat on the bed, if he voiced any of his feelings then they’d be real. “What about the prosthetic?” 

Marnie spent the next half hour questioning him about his needs and desires (“I don’t know, an arm?”) and starting a few sketches. There was a discussion about utility versus aesthetic and a decision on the former, ending with a very robotic looking limb that made Simmons feel very much like a Star Wars character. 

“Your mom’s going to hate this.” Marnie’s voice didn’t hide her smug pleasure. 

“If she flips out-”

“Blame it on me.”  _ Always.  _ Simmons brain pulled a memory he didn’t know he had. In the hospital bed, people surrounding him. He was panicking, but Grif’s voice steadied him. There were nurses fighting him but Grif was right there, forcing himself as close to Simmons as possible. Simmons hadn’t known Grif had been in the hospital with him; his mother had said that no one had come to see him before they made the transfer to his hometown hospital.

“Ugh, Dick? You ok?” Simmons shook himself and whipped out his phone.

_ You came to see me in the hospital? _

A few moments passed by while he stared at the phone. He willed Grif to have some sense of urgency just once in his life.

**_Yeah of course idiot for 4 days straight_ **

Simmons felt cornered. On the one hand, Grif had cared enough to come. On the other, his mom had been there all that time. She lacked many things, but she was smart. She would have put it together.

“She’s been lying to me.” Simmons looked at his cousin. Fear flashing through his eye. “She knows. She knows about Grif. Marnie, she knows. That’s why she transferred hospitals.”

“Hey, you don’t know that.”

“Everything’s over. I’m never getting out of here. I’m going to die here alone and no one is going to know or care.” Simmons breathing began to speed up.

“You’re not going to  _ die  _ here. You just need to calm down.” Marnie reached out a hand but Simmons stood abruptly, going to open the door.

“Thank you for the prosthetic and for visiting me. I don’t feel well and I need to rest.”

“Dick…”

“Thank you.” Simmons hated how much he sounded like his mom, but he needed to think. He needed to be alone and really think. Marnie gathered her sketches and started to leave. “Tell Aunt Susan thanks too.”

He shut the door behind her and sank to the floor.

_ What did you tell her? _

_ My mom _

_ What does she know? _

**_Dude I didn’t tell her anything_ **

_ You’re lying. She knows. _

_ You ruined my life asshole. _

Simmons turned off the phone, not wanting to see what Grif had to say. It didn’t matter. Everything he knew was over. He was trapped and there was no way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marnie is like 50% plot device and 50% creative insert because this AU keeps growing and growing and I somehow needed to tether Simmons' family to some normalcy. You'll see her again in other stories in this series if you read on!  
> Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed yet another glimpse into overthinking, sad, questioning, scared, Simmons!  
> Also, I'm going to go back and add chapter summaries because this fic keeps getting longer and further away from the overall summary.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons' phone buzzed in his pocket... He knew who it was. It didn’t matter that Simmons hadn’t sent one message in the two week span of time, Grif was relentless in his texting.

Simmons’ phone buzzed in his pocket, causing his mother to look up from her plate. His father, as per usual, was not joining them for Sunday breakfast. Instead he took his plate to his office, much more preferring the solitude of his wood paneled walls and computer screen. Simmons envied him. 

“Who’s that?” His mother gave a smile that held nothing behind it.

“Probably Marnie. She’s just checking in because the fitting for the prosthetic is coming up.” Simmons knew it wasn’t Marnie. She had called earlier and they had ironed out the last details. He knew who it was. It didn’t matter that Simmons hadn’t sent one message in the two week span of time, Grif was relentless in his texting.

Since the night of his realization, nothing had changed. His mother was frosted and distant; but she had always been that way. Even when he had drawn her pictures as a child she would only look for a moment before throwing it away. She didn’t even have the decency to wait until he left the room. Simmons figured the safest bet was to keep everything the same. If she was going to act like she didn’t know, Simmons could play in the same scene.

“Hmmm. Has she sent you a picture of the finished piece?” 

“Ugh, yeah. I’ll send it to you.”

“Wonderful.” Simmons’ mother stood and collected the dishes, not bothering to ask if her son was done. He hadn’t been eating much these days, but she didn’t bother to say anything, only took note. 

Simmons stood to take leave, his mother having clearly ended their meal by cleaning up and heading into the kitchen. Simmons gazed through the picturesque dining room window as a familiar red truck pulled up across from his house. He searched his mind to remember where he recognized it from when the answer was presented to him.

“Shit fuck no.” He muttered to himself. Grif exited the company truck and started walking toward his house. Simmons pulled his phone out dialing the new number. Like watching a thriller, Simmons viewed Grif pause and fish around in his pockets, completely unaware of the damage he could cause. 

“Simmons?”

“Get back in the truck.” Simmons whispered urgently. “Get back in the truck  _ right now. _ Drive around the block, park on 22nd and Oakley Drive. Go.” Thankfully listening for once, Grif turned around slowly and climbed back into the beat-up red truck. Listening to the motor start up, Simmons felt safe enough to end the call.

“Mom? I’m going on a walk!” He heard her making her way to the foyer where he was struggling into his shoes. “Bye!”

Simmons ran out with his jacket grasped in his hand. He speed walked away catching sight of his mother in the panel of glass on the front door. He swallowed his panic and turned to the next street allowing anger to fuel his steps. Who did Grif think he was showing up at his house? How did his lack of messages not convey that he wanted to be left alone? Why was Grif such a damn idiot?! He threw the jacket on his good arm and fought the zipper up.

“You’re an asshole and I hate you!” Simmons threw open the truck door and climbed into the passenger seat. “You need to get out of this neighborhood.”

“What the fuck happened?!” Grif was pulling at his hair with both of his hands, Simmons couldn’t deny that he looked absolutely terrified. Grif finally saw him, “Simmons, your arm…” 

“Yeah, you aren’t driving. Drive, Grif. We need to get out of here, now.” Simmons threw his hood over his head, looking around as though someone was watching.

“Your face…” Grif reached a hand out to touch him but paused.

“I know, now drive. Take a left at the end of this road onto Oak Lane, out of the subdivision.” Simmons took Grif’s gaze fully, swallowing. “Please.”

“Ok.” Grif understood. He drove in silence, catching the way Simmons ducked his head until the sea of houses faded out.

“Right onto Main, then go half a mile.” Simmons peeked out the window.

Main slowly became more and more wooded until they came upon a forest preserve. Grif slowed to park, already forming the words he would say to Simmons once he was satisfied with their distance.

“Dude, what the fuck-”

“Grif, not here. Keep driving. Follow the path to the third parking lot. Nobody goes there.”

“Simmons. _No one is here_. We're alone in a forest preserve, we’re far enough. So what the- Oh my god, seriously?!” Simmons had opened the door and was getting out. Grif grabbed at his shoulder, holding him in the cab. “Do you have to be so damn difficult?” 

Simmons paused, trying to comprehend what was happening and what could maybe happen from here. He slammed the truck door shut. “Just  _ drive then _ .”

“Simmons! I need to-”

“Drive. You need to drive.” Grif groaned, rolling his eyes and backing out of the space. 

“You’re impossible.” Grif drove the winded path until they were in yet another empty parking lot, but this time deeper into the preserve. “Are you fucking happy now?”

Simmons shrank in his seat, looking away from Grif. “Yes. I am.”

“Ok, so what the fuck is going on? You keep disappearing, dude. I’ve been so-”

“Pissed? Mad? Annoyed?” Simmons turned to look at his friend in the driver’s seat.

“Worried. I’ve been so fucking _worried_ , Simmons.”

“What?” Simmons couldn’t look at Grif. Not when he had that genuine concern thing going on. He couldn’t handle the way his eyebrows raised up and his voice became so soft.

“I thought you were dead, man. I thought,” Grif took his turn to look away, staring out into the trees ahead of him. “I thought I was never going to see you again. I was so fucking scared.” Grif took a deep breath as he was thrust back into the memory. “That was one of the worst nights of my life. Worse than when Kai went missing for the night, because I figured she’d come back. But with you? I watched your body on a stretcher. The paramedic said it wasn’t good. I just assumed… I had to come to terms with you being  _ dead, _ because _ I  w _ as stupid.” Grif paused, returning his gaze to Simmons. “And then I found you in the hospital. And I’ve never seen anyone more fucked up and you were in so much pain, and your eye-”

“You missed me with the eyepatch.” Simmons squeaked, trying to break the solemn mood. “I looked like David Bowie.”

“You wished you looked like David Bowie.” Grif smiled at him, taking a second to look at his semblance. “You can barely tell it’s fake though.” Simmons looked at his reflection in the side-view mirror. The new glass prosthetic really did help a lot. You could only tell something was off by the slight color mismatch and the shine it took in certain lights. However, the rest of his face was not as inconspicuous.

“Right, the discoloration of the entire right side of my face doesn’t tee you off or anything.” 

“It’ll get better.” Grif guessed. “I’m just so glad you’re here. _Alive_.”

Simmons paused, he wanted to smile but he was still so afraid. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Right, back to this bullshit. What the fuck is going on? We get back into contact and within the same day you freeze me out? And you had to do it with a fucking doomsday message. I thought you were getting beaten or some shit.”

“No they haven’t,”  _ Yet _ . “I just have to be careful. As long as I’m at home, everything has to be so fucking careful, Grif. And besides, it isn’t like I mean anything to you. It’s not like our… experience meant anything to you. I was just another fuck toy.”

“For being a genius you’re really fucking dumb.”Grif scowled.

“You’re dumb." Simmons' defensiveness kicked in. "Why’d you drive all the way here in the warthog? Huh? You’re the dumb one.”

“A few things, 1) Don’t call it the warthog. It’s the company truck and when you encourage Sarge to use his dumbass nicknames it just gives him more power. 2) I just came here, ok.”

“Why.”

“Just think dumbass!”

“Just tell me! Why does everything have to be so impossible with you!” Both of them groaned.

“Why do I have to tell you, Simmons. I drove over a hundred miles. I broke into the employee files to find your address. I scammed Sarge into using the truck. I’ve been texting you nonstop. I showed up at the hospital repeatedly even when your psychopath of a mom was there. You’ve never been a  _ fuck toy  _ to me, Simmons. You’re so stupid. Use your brain. I really like you, Dick. I _really_ really like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys must find a way to talk, though they both suck at it. Writing the soft stuff is always my favorite. I love angst and it honestly fuels all of my writing (trust me I'm building up toward SOME GD SCENES) but the fluff and love and confessions write themselves honestly. Thank you for reading and feel free to leave a comment!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you just… hold me?” Simmons whispered, partially hoping Grif wouldn’t hear him sounding so needy. But Grif obliged. He wrapped both arms tightly around Simmons’ body, taking a moment to pull off Simmons hood so he could rest his chin into the mess of orange hair and breathe in the scent he hoped would one day become familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason this fic is rated mature! Graphic sexual scenes in this chapter, fair warning.

“Like,  _ like like  _ me?” Both boys stared out the window.

“You could say that.” Grif fiddled with the radio station. “What channel plays classic rock, all I found was Christian shit.”

“You’re in the bible belt. Try 104.3, I think that one’s good.” Simmons mumbled.  _ Shit shit shit. He likes me.  _ His internal monologue went a mile a minute. Simmons snuck a look at Grif, who had finally decided on a station. Pink Floyd filled the car as Simmons’ face turned red and Grif began to sweat. Grif turned, surprised to see Simmons looking at him.

“I like you too.” Simmons whispered. “Like,  _ like like. _ ” Slowly, Simmons unbuckled himself and got up so he was sitting on his knees. He reached over to unbuckle Grif, then pushed him til he had pulled his own legs onto the bench and was facing Simmons. Simmons used his hand to hold Grif’s face as he went in to kiss him, more confidently than he had for their first kiss. He let his lips hold on as long as he could, and when he opened his eyes was surprised to see tears on Grif’s lashes.

“I was so scared. I thought I was never going to see you again.” Grif choked out.

“I’m right here.” Simmons leaned into Grif’s chest as though a physical reminder would solve it all. He wrapped his arm around Grif's torso.

“Not all of you,” Grif picked up the useless sleeve that hung limp by Simmons’ side. “And it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Can you just… hold me?” Simmons whispered, partially hoping Grif wouldn’t hear him sounding so needy. But Grif obliged. He wrapped both arms tightly around Simmons’ body, taking a moment to pull off Simmons hood so he could rest his chin into the mess of orange hair and breathe in the scent he hoped would one day become as familiar as home.

“Why did you disappear?” Simmons felt Grif’s question as he spoke it.

“I was afraid.” Grif’s fingers moved up and down Simmons’ back slowly as he responded. “I knew she knew and I was worried she’d tell my dad if she thought we were still doing whatever.”

“You could have told me. Told Donut to tell me or something. You just keep disappearing, dude. It scares me. I mean, I thought you could have gotten worse, or your parents were stopping you, or, I don’t know, you actually hated me?”

“I… I’m sorry. You’re right.” Simmons bunched some of Grif’s t-shirt in his hand.

“It’s fine. Just… don’t leave me hanging like that again.” Grif paused and pulled Simmons in just a little more. “Please.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.” Grif kissed the top of Simmons’ head, causing Simmons to look up with his eyebrows raised. “What?” 

“I,” Simmons didn’t know what. He tried to think of a ‘what’, something to say, something to describe how perfect this felt without being too sappy. Something that said  _ I have been waiting so long for this  _ without putting on too much pressure. Something that said  _ You’re the only reason I’m glad I made it out  _ without ruining this moment. “I like you so much.”

“Yeah, I like you a lot too, nerd.” Grif kissed his upturned forehead, the contact sparking something in Simmons.

He released himself from Grif’s grasp. Simmons grabbed the hem of Grif’s shirt pulling it toward the roof of the truck. Grif took his lead and took it the rest of the way off. Soundlessly, Grif reached across the bench to grab the zipper on Simmons’ jacket and pulled it down. He helped Simmons out of his layers until they were both bare chested in the truck. Simmons watched Grif’s eyes as they surveyed his scarred and torn body, waiting for his inevitable shock. He took it in, barely reacting.

“Can I touch you? Will it hurt?”

“Yes.” Simmons grabbed Grif’s hand and guided it to his body. “Please touch me. I… I don’t know if it’ll hurt.”

“Then tell me if it does.” Grif leaned toward him, slowing down as his lips neared the scar that edged toward his chin. His breath tickled against Simmons’ face. His lips made contact, brushing softly against the sensitive skin. Simmons tensed up; Grif pulled back.

“No! It doesn’t hurt, it’s just… new? I don’t know. Grif, I. Please. Just.” Simmons stumbled. He didn’t have words for any of this. He was never really good with words. Fuck words. Simmons had his lips and he had his hand and that would be good enough for today. He used them, convincing Grif to try again. Lips parted against another’s, chests rubbed against each other, hands gently felt out unfamiliar territory.

Grif let Simmons guide his hand along his body, feeling the scars under his finger tips. Something in Grif felt relief, something else felt joy, another part felt excitement, and another still an ache of fear. The emotions bubbled out in a small wave of tears. Simmons hesitated, feeling the wetness on his own face. 

“Grif.”

“Shut the fuck up. It’s been a really stressful few months.” Grif tried to return to their kissing.

“Ok, I’ll ignore that you’re crying.” Grif could feel Simmons’ smile under his lips.

“Maybe I’m crying because you’re still so bad at this.” Grif opened his eyes, trying to force himself to remember every second of this. Somehow it felt more momentous than just making out in a truck. This was Simmons. This was Simmons smiling as he kissed him. This was Simmons taking the lead. This was Simmons returning the emotions Grif had questioned for so long.

Simmons reached across to struggle with Grif’s belt. Grif shoved down his slight shock. Simmons was never this forward. He closed his own hand around Simmons'.

“Simmons, you don’t want it to be like this.” Grif gestured to their surroundings; the fast food wrappers on the floor, the confinements of the space, the overall old truck smell that hung heavy in the air.

“I don’t give a shit, Grif. I want you and I want you now. I’m tired of waiting.” Simmons stared confidently into Grif’s eyes. “So. Take off your pants because I can’t.” His voice cracked, reminding Grif that this was still just Simmons.

“Do you even know how to suck a dick?” 

“I, ugh.” Simmons turned red. “You just stick it in your mouth how hard can it be?!” 

“Oh, Simmons… Sweet, sweet Simmons.”

“Fuck off!” His voice cracked again. There was something so calming and comforting in their usual back and forth banter, even if it was about an entirely new topic. Grif removed his belt anyway, shifting his pants low enough to expose the erection barely concealed by his boxers. Simmons swallowed his apprehension and lifted the elastic band to pop out his dick. “Shit.”

“Hey, you don’t have- OH fuck.” Simmons mouth was around his cock before he could finish. Grif didn’t want to admit that Simmons needed less instructions on this particular skill set. His mouth was warm as it moved up and down the length of Grif’s dick. Simmons tongue touched against its underside, causing Grif to moan involuntarily. Simmons’ eyes flicked up as though laughing with a challenge. Grif had never wanted him more.

“Holy fucking shit, dude.” Grif grabbed at the band on Simmons’ pants, reaching under to free his hardened member. His fingers grasped at the tip; but it just was not enough. Gently, Grif pushed Simmons up and off of him. 

“Am I… Not doing it right?”

“No you’re good, man. I just. I gotta have you. Right now.” Grif smirked, pushing him back so Simmons’ back was against the door. “Also, you have a giant fucking cock. That’s what I was trying to tell you that night.”

“Is that, is that bad?” Simmons eyebrows lifted in the softest, most naive question mark.

“You fucking idiot.” Grif dropped down, lowering his lips to Simmons’ stomach. He kissed along the line of sparse red hair from belly button to groin. His tongue dragged swiftly up Simmons’ dick while he pumped his own cock, getting off from the tremors of pleasure he could feel coming from Simmons. His left hand wrapped around Simmons’ shaft directly below his lips. Grif watched Simmons face, reading the expressions that betrayed how pleased he was with Grif’s work. Simmons’ breaths came in fast clusters that only paused when Simmons bit his lower lip and breathed heavy exhales through his nose. His eyes squeezed close and his mouth let loose a soft syllable;  _ Grif. _

Hearing his own name only energized Grif. He doubled his effort, running his tongue below the tip of his cock while his hand continued to pump up and down with an unspoken rhythm. Grif let go of himself and reached up to run his thumb along Simmons’ lips while his fingers tilted his head down, forcing Simmons to make contact with Grif’s eyes. Locked in that moment, Grif could feel the absolute moment that Simmons lost himself.

He filled Grif’s mouth crying out in unchecked ecstacy. Grif swallowed and moved up toward Simmons’ face. He needed to feel Simmons’ lips under his. He waited for him to come back from his orgasm, trying to see how he would react and knowing that Simmons’ germophobia may lead to a stop in the kissing. But Simmons surprised him by knocking into him with full force, his lips fighting to find Grif’s. Grif didn’t hate when Simmons tongue burst into his mouth. 

Their mouths pressed together. Simmons could feel Grif moaning. He reached down cautiously to find that Grif had returned to rubbing himself. He wrapped his hand around Grif’s, clumsily working with his less practiced left hand. His fingers, thinner and longer than Grif’s, filled in the empty spaces between Grif’s fingers. Grif guided him, breathing heavily and trying to continue kissing but faltering. 

“Huungh.” Grif breathed out as he came. Simmons looked down at their intertwined fingers as Grif’s body pulsed between them. 

“I… did that.” Simmons whispered.

“Kind of.” Grif smirked. “But we’ll get you there.” He reached into the fast food bag and grabbed a napkin to pass to Simmons. “Sorry.” He mumbled as Simmons hastily wiped his stomach and tried not to make any rude ( _ though warranted  _ he thought) signs of disgust.

Grif laid his head onto Simmons’ lap once he had pulled his pants back up. “Is this ok?” He looked up and Simmons nodded. His hand pulled lazily through the thick tangle of Grif’s hair. Grif’s hand reached up to ever-so-gently touch the stump where his right arm should have been. “Are you gonna get a prosthetic?”

“Yeah. My cousin made it.”

“What?” Grif raised his eyes to meet Simmons’ in disbelief. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds. She does, I don’t know, engineering shit or something. She’s a fucking genius or whatever.” Simmons muttered. “Either way, she designed the prosthetic and got it 3D printed for me. It should work  _ mostly  _ like a normal hand. But, you know, plastic.”

“Huh.” Grif’s fingers continued to feather down Simmons scarred torso. “You’re still handsome.”

“What?” Simmons looked down in disbelief.

“Yeah. And you can’t fight me on it. You’re still handsome.” Grif breathed deeply, betraying a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt in a while.

“Huh.” Simmons didn’t even feel like fighting it. If Grif thought he was handsome then who was he to argue it?

“Are you ok here?” Grif’s fingers found their way to Simmons’ ribs. He was skinnier than the last time they had been together. 

“I’m ok right now. It’s not _nice;_ every second is pressure and fear. But I lived like this for so long, it’s just natural to me now. I don’t have an option though, Grif. If I leave I’m dead. So I handle it. I live on eggshells because it’s better than starving somewhere else.”

“I’d take care of you.” The words were out before Grif thought about them. “I mean…” He tried to shove the words back into his mouth but he couldn’t. Grif sat up, considering his statement in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. “If you wanted to. I could, I don’t know, help you out or whatever.”

“Are you asking me to come home with you?” Simmons sat up as well. He looked away, knowing his face was about to turn red.

“If you thought it would be better. I’d sleep on the couch; you could have the bed. Kai stays out of the way enough.” Grif shrugged.

“No.”

Grif hadn't expected to feel his heart drop in that moment. He cursed himself for being dumb.

“I mean, I can’t.” Simmons looked back at him, catching Grif’s gaze. “I’d be cut off. I still have to pay for school and medical bills and all that. Someone has to pay for it, Grif. And besides, I couldn’t do that to you and Kai.” They hadn’t talked much about it, but Simmons knew how everything Grif did, every penny he earned, went to Kai’s and his living expenses. Grif didn’t acknowledge that he knew Simmons was right. Instead he dropped his eyes to Simmons’ still naked chest.

“I didn’t know you blushed to your nipples.” He smiled. Simmons hand instinctively covered his chest. His blush intensified. “How are you embarrassed right now?  Your cock was just in my mouth.”

“Dick.” Simmons mumbled while he sorted through the piled clothes on the floor of the truck.

“You love me.” Grif said through his grin.

“Yeah whatever. Help me put this back on, I need to get home.” Simmons held up his t shirt. “This is officially the longest spontaneous walk in history, my mom has to be getting suspicious by now.” Grif followed along, pulling the shirt over Simmons’ head. Grif followed his cue and put on his own shirt.

“Why’d we come here anyway?” Grif questioned as they pulled out of the lot, now both dressed.

“I don’t know. I used to come here as a kid to do some science experiments.” Simmons flipped his hood up and shrank back down in the seat.

“If you murdered squirrels, I take back everything I said, you’re a psychopath and I hate you.” Grif glanced over at Simmons’ smug face.

“I got water samples, asshole. I tested the bacteria in the creek.” He kicked at Grif’s shin.

“Don’t make me pull this thing over.” 

“We would both enjoy that too much.” Simmons sat up to peek at their progress.

“Simmons, you gotta text me, ok? Don’t leave me hanging like that. It’s the fucking worst, alright?”

“I’ll text Donut.”

“What?” Grif turned onto Main.

“You still share breaks, right? Borrow his phone during your breaks and we can talk then. But nothing too obvious, ok? I never know if my parents are reading my texts.” Simmons reached out to grab Grif’s hand which was resting on the seat. He intertwined his fingers. “I promise I won’t disappear again.”

“Ok.” Grif clasped his hand around the spindly fingers, wanting so bad to kiss him again.

“Ok.” They rode in silence until Grif parked a block away from Simmons’ house. Simmons opened the passenger door, ready to sneak out.

“I’d make it work.”

“What?” Simmons paused before jumping out.

“If you needed to get out, I’d make it work. You could stay with me. That’s all.” Grif scratched the back of his head and looked at the steering wheel. 

“Oh, yeah. Alright. Thank you.” Simmons got out but caught Grif’s casual _You_ _ love me  _ as the door swung shut. He turned to look back in the window, mouthing the words  _ Shut up  _ before turning and walking the street back home. 

He hoped that he could just sneak back to his room, avoiding the uncomfortable confrontation for just tonight. He knew it was inevitable but just tonight he wanted to live in the memory of Grif’s arms and touch. He opened the door and angled for the stairs before a voice sent a shiver up his spine.

“Where the hell have you been all day, boy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally wrote a fully realized sex(ual) scene and boy does that feel weird. This and the last chapter were written in one flurry and I feel like Grif and Simmons were pushing me saying we suffered too much, let us fuck or something. So I did. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter and subscribe if you want the dramatic ending to this fic! (Which is 2 chapters away!! How did this go so easily??)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons’ mouth couldn’t catch up to his brain. So instead he stood in the doorway, staring at his father who hadn’t even looked up from his newspaper in the armchair. The patio door slammed shut. Simmons watched as his mother pulled out a cigarette with shaking hands and placed it to her lips just beyond the glass doors. That’s when he knew it was bad. If the unflappable Lydia Simmons was bothered, than he had a reason to be downright scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, please note that I have updated the tags!! This chapter goes into actual description of physical abuse, if it is a trigger for you, please feel free to skip this chapter! I promise that I will make a note on chapter 11 that covers anything you may have missed in this chapter. Your health is a thousand times more important than reading this chapter.

Simmons’ mouth couldn’t catch up to his brain. So instead he stood in the doorway, staring at his father who hadn’t even looked up from his newspaper in the armchair. The patio door slammed shut. Simmons watched as his mother pulled out a cigarette with shaking hands and placed it to her lips just beyond the glass doors. That’s when he knew it was bad. If the unflappable Lydia Simmons was bothered, than he had a reason to be downright scared.

“Well, where were you?” The paper folded into his father’s lap.

“The creek.” He finally settled for an answer. 

Richard Simmons Sr. stood, and though he and his son were roughly the same height, Simmons felt like a child before him. “So who were you with?”

“I was by myself.” 

“Oh, were you? What were you doing with yourself at a creek for,” Mr. Simmons looked at his watch and tabulated the time Simmons had been gone, “3 hours?”

“Thinking.” Simmons looked to the left quickly, trying to avoid his father who was coming closer to him step by step. 

“Whatever could you have been thinking about  _ so hard _ Richard?” They were both in the foyer now. Richard Sr. flexed his hands into and out of a fist. Simmons took an unsteady breath, acutely aware that his flight reflexes were kicking in.  _ Go go go you idiot.  _

“Death.” He squeaked out. Simmons had spent more than 3 hours contemplating death before. Not today though, he had spent 3 hours finally being alive.

“Are you making any plans?” His father seems amused, a sadistic glint in his eyes. He moved even closer.

“No… sir.” 

“You could tell me, I  _ am _ your father, Richard.” Simmons doubted that. There was barely a gap between the two of them.

“I just… sometimes I think about what it means to be alive, that’s all.”

“What does it mean to be alive, Richard?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Do you appreciate being alive?”

“I. I do?” Simmons was caught off guard. “Yes. I do appreciate… living.”

“Then, Richard, I would suggest you start following the way of things. And,” His voice tripled in volume and tone. “ _ Richard! _ ? Look at me when I talk to you, boy!” Richard Sr.’s breath was hot on Simmons’ cheek and he had to force himself to turn his face toward the stern glare mere centimeters from him. As his father’s mouth dropped to speak again, Simmons’ eyes flashed to his mother’s figure as she continued to breath out smoke and hold onto herself. 

A hand was around his throat, aggravating the still sensitive skin. A hand he had always hoped would clap him on the back but instead found a more menacing purpose.  “Don’t look at her; your mother can’t protect you anymore! Now listen to me. If you’re going to live in my home and use my resources, and boy,  _ don’t you know how much of my money you’ve cost me all these years _ , you will follow the  _ natural  _ order of things!” Richard Sr. released his son who felt unsteady on his feet as he gasped for breath. His hand flashed to the line of scar tissue on his neck, he pictured Grif’s fingers ever so gently testing out his capacity for touch with his lips.

“What are you talking about?” Simmons’ eyes burned with hot tears.

“Whatever you think you’re getting away with, you aren’t.” His father’s hand was back on his body, gripping down in a vicelike snare on the seam on his right shoulder. Simmons hated knowing that his father was being strategic as the pain undulated out. 

“I’m not trying anything, Dad!” He cried out.

“ _ Stop lying to me _ !” Richard Sr. pushed down and Simmons dropped to his knees to try and stop the searing pain. “Who were you with today?!”

“I was by myself, Dad, I swear!” There was no warning as the torture disappeared from his shoulder to strike against his face. Pain bloomed from his jaw.

“Goddamn it, Richard!” His father turned away for only a moment. His anger was mounting, his hair was disheveled, he had slipped up. A shot to the face was not easily hidden. His foot made contact with his son’s much less visible stomach. “This is your fault!” Simmons pooled onto the ground. He wrapped his arms around himself. His head instinctively tucked in. “Tell me who was with you.”

“A friend!” Simmons voice barely broke a whisper. He was lost in the pain and shock. Simmons tried to think of Grif’s chin in his hair, the way he had breathed Simmons in like it wasn’t obvious. Simmons tried to think of that instead of the feeling of his hair being gathered in his father’s fist and pulling him toward the living room. Simmons scrabbled against the hardwood floor trying to keep up with his father’s pulling to alleviate some of the pain.

“What  _ kind _ of friend, Richard?” His father pulled his face upward so he could stare into his eyes.

“He’s just a friend, Dad.” And then Simmons face collided into the floor and there was blood on the hardwood pouring from the new crack in his nose.

“Quit lying about your perversion, Richard. You think I haven’t known for years? You think you can hide it forever? How  _ fucked you are in the head, huh boy!?”  _ His father’s voice boomed through the house. Simmons thought of how Grif had reached up to run his fingers across his ribs, the way he had been worried and cared enough to ask if he was ok. He thought of the way his fingers had intertwined between Grif’s to create one solid connection. The toe of his father’s shoe fit against his ribs. Repeatedly.

“You will never hide from me, Richard. I will  _ always _ know what you are doing.” His father breathed heavy through his nostrils, spit downward barely missing his son who lay sobbing, shaking, and bleeding, on the floor, then wiped his hair from his face. He hastened toward the stairs, cursing out his son.

Simmons was aware that his father was thrashing through his room but he instead focused on the rawness of feeling in his body. He wondered if it was his fault, if he could have fixed this somehow? He wondered if he had been more polite, more serving, his father would have loved him.

“Richard?” Simmons opened his eyes to see the swollen face and wet eyes of his mother. “You can’t make him mad, dear.” She reached down with a bag of ice, allowing Simmons to see the bruises that traced up her arm that he knew matched the ones growing on his own chest. “It’s easier to do what he wants.”

_ She can’t protect you anymore.  _ Her frigidity suddenly made sense. Everything about how she pushed away and tried to convince Simmons to just keep quiet made sense. It certainly didn’t forgive her lack of compassion, but at least it  _ made sense _ . He gratefully took the ice and allowed his mother to help him to his feet. She guided him to the bathroom where he wadded enough toilet paper together to stop his bleeding nose. She turned to go clean the mess her boys had made in the living room.

“Mom? How long…?” Simmons didn’t know how to connect. She smiled with only her lips. “Why don’t you just go? Why don’t we go?” 

“You’re being ridiculous, dear. There’s much more here.” She looked around at the ornate decorations and luxury and somehow, Simmons knew, she managed to ignore the sounds of her husband tearing apart their son’s bedroom and still cursing at full volume. Somehow she could close off so much more than most could.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons flexed his new pointer finger ever so slightly. His mother continued to clean the windows, ignoring the uncomfortable tension that had taken up permanent residence since the incident with his father. Simmons wanted his phone, wanted to hear Grif’s voice, maybe wanted to tell him what had happened that night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 summary: Simmons father finally snaps and beats his son for his “perversions.” Simmons tries to remember his time with Grif to ignore the pain and brutality. His father breaks his nose in his attack. Simmons finds out that his mother has been trying to “protect” him from the more brutal actions of his father, though this isn’t grounds for forgiveness, just a realization. (Basically Lydia Simmons still sucks but she’s afraid of her husband and trying to keep the worst off Simmons. She’s still a conservative asshat, but… ya know. Complex characters.)

How many pieces of salami could Grif throw at the wall before one fell down? So far… 15, and nothing to stop him from keeping on throwing. The phone rang, but he kept on watching. Simmons would get it; Simmons  _ alway  _ gets it. It continued until Grif remembered that Simmons wasn’t here to be the disgruntled, designated call person. A piece of salami slapped the floor between the grating brrrrng of the phone.

“Donut! Get the phone!” Grif bellowed from behind the deli counter.

“Why me? Sarge isn’t doing anything.” Donut whined, his hands coated in flour.

“I ain’t touchin’ the phone! One of you slackers do it!” The slackers startled at the PA system and the angry drill sergeant yelling over it. The phone rang again, “ _ Now Donut!” _

“Fine!” Donut picked up the receiver moments before  it went dead. “Cardinal’s Market, how can I help you?”

“Oh, I might have the wrong… actually, wait- Cardinal’s Market? Like a Blood Gulch grocery store?”

“Ugh… yes?”

“Oh, ok. I need Dick-”

“Sister, you are barking up the wrong tree!”

“No, no, Dick like Richard. Richard Simmons-”

“Oh! Simmons isn’t here right now. He’s on leave indefinitely.” Donut coddled the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could continue working on the dough he was rolling out.

“I know. I need to talk to his boyfriend.”

“No he doesn’t have a-” Donut paused in his rolling, watching Grif grab a piece of salami off the wall and fold it into his mouth. “Oh my god. It finally happened. I have to call everyone. It finally happened! Lopez, Lopez! It  _ occurio _ ed!”

“Can I just leave a message?” The girl was sounding very serious. 

“Oh sure, yeah! I’ll give it to Grif, I’ll give it to him good!”

“What? You know what, nevermind. Just tell Dick’s boyfriend that he says he’s sorry. But can you tell him that I say he needs to talk to Dick? Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong. He needs help and I can’t do it. Oh… This is his cousin.”

* * *

Simmons flexed his new pointer finger ever so slightly. His mother continued to clean the windows, ignoring the uncomfortable tension that had taken up permanent residence since the incident with his father. Simmons wanted his phone, wanted to hear Grif’s voice, maybe wanted to tell him what had happened that night (and several nights after. Simmons never admitted to his so-called “perversion” so his father just kept hitting).

Simmons had written out several drafts of messages in his head, but none had done justice. Not one had conveyed the terror he had felt as his father had come down on him. It had felt like maybe he had finally snapped and given into all the disdain he kept thinly covered. Time beat by so Simmons wrote and rewrote the text message in his head. 

His father had moved quickly to take all of his access to the outside world away. His phone had been promptly investigated and confiscated, as well as his laptop. The only time he had been able to leave the house was for his prosthetic fitting. And Simmons had taken the opportunity to leave a note with Marnie; a simple phone number and directives to pass on a ‘sorry’ snuck to her in secrecy. She had accepted the new twinge in his nose as an accident; had paused at the mottled brown and purple bruises on his arms, and froze at the battlefield of bruising across his torso.  _ I’m fine.  _ He had pushed so hard, and Marnie could read in his eyes that this was beyond her helping. Little did Simmons know that she had decided it  _ was  _ in the realm of someone else’s helping.

“What are you doing?!” His mother burst into the dining room, her voice a shrill whisper.

“I’m reading?” He lifted the book he was reading momentarily. 

“Then why, Richard, are there two trucks in our driveway?” 

“I have no idea what’s going on.” Simmons defended.

“You’re friend  _ Dustin  _ is driving one of them.”

“Who?” Simmons’ face contorted in confusion.

The doorbell rang, followed by a flurry of knocking. A distinct knock that he couldn’t forget if he had ever tried. Rapid, unrelenting tapping, and though he couldn’t hear it, he knew a singsong voice was beyond the door.

“I didn’t do this! It wasn’t me!” He squeaked. Mrs. Simmons wrapped her arm around her son and pulled him to the living room. The knocking paused, only to take up at the front window. Donut’s scarred face pressed up. 

“ _ There he is! Hi Simmons! I can’t believe-”  _ Donut’s voice came muffled through the glass. Sarge took up residence in the knocking; a much firmer and more demanding tone. Mrs. Simmons flung the door open and looked down her nose at the old man with a deeper scowl than Simmons had ever seen. But his eye was drawn to the figure just behind him, fidgeting with a candy wrapper and staring downward. He peeked up to see Simmons (his face growing redder and redder by the moment) and paled.

“Hello.” Mrs. Simmons deadpanned. 

“Ma’am.” Sarge tipped his head momentarily. “We just wanted to check up on the boy. He’s one of our own, and in Cardinal’s, we take care of our men.”

“It’s a grocery store.” Her voice frosted. She straightened her shoulders, creating an all but visible barrier into her home.

“Ma’am, I believe…” 

Simmons met Grif’s eyes, doing his best to demand an answer  _ What is going on?!  _

_ What happened to you?  _ Grif raised his eyebrows and his hands.

_ I’m sorry.  _ Simmons shook his head.

“We’re taking you home.” Grif spoke out, jutting into the monologue Sarge had very clearly prepared. Grif pushed past Sarge and Simmons’ mother, put a hand on Simmons’ shoulder, and quietly, just for him, said; “Come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very short chapter, but I wanted to post something since it's been a hot sec. Also let any devoted readers know that I started a new job that is taking all of my time and energy so it'll be a while before I can update on more regular bases again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I…” His eyes flashed between the two. One path for consistency and reliability, another for the unknown but maybe a chance at happiness. Simmons loosed a fast breath, staring at the floor. “You- I- Maybe- But no- I mean- I could- But then-” He fell silent and looked up for the right answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are gay slurs used in this chapter, a fair warning!

“I think you all need to leave.” Simmons was vaguely aware of his mother’s eyes burning into the back of Grif’s skull. He was supremely aware of the way Grif’s eyes roved out the various marks left by his father before they set themselves onto his gaze. Grif’s fingers squeezed a slight pressure into his shoulder.

“I can’t.” Simmons muttered.

“Yeah. You can. You have to.” Grif’s eyes instinctively dropped to the purple mottling across his nose before coming back up. “I don’t make the rules man, Sarge came all this way. You wouldn’t disappoint him.” Grif gave his trademark side smirk that simultaneously made Simmons want to punch and kiss him.

“Richard. Don’t be ridiculous.” Simmons’ mother pushed between them and the comforting pressure of Grif’s touch tore away.

“I…” His eyes flashed between the two. One path for consistency and reliability, another for the unknown but maybe a chance at happiness. Simmons loosed a fast breath, staring at the floor. “You- I- Maybe- But no- I mean- I could- But then-” He fell silent and looked up for the right answer. A smile flitted across Lydia’s face.

“It’s my house, and you all need to leave.” Her hand reached out to settle against Grif’s collarbone and she began to push.

“If this is what you want, I’ll go.” Grif stood his ground, giving a nonchalant shrug though his eyes betrayed his plea. 

“Why would he ever want you? He has all this, what could you ever offer him that could top it?” She sneered. “Look at you. Slovenly, disgusting, worth nothing, and will never be anything.”

“No.” A small voice.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Simmons turned to look at her son.

“No. He’s a lazy,  _ stupid,  _ fat ass, but he’s worth something.” Simmons swallowed. “To me anyway.” He removed his mother’s hand from Grif’s body. “But don’t get a big head about it, ok? I’m just saying that you’re better than nothing. Because there is a lot better than you, fat ass-”

“You already said fat ass.” Grif quipped. Simmons’ mother struggled for words in the background.  
“Well I need to say it twice because you’re that fat, Grif!” Simmons’ voice cracked as he paid no mind.

“So?”

“So what? You’re fat and it’s killing you! It’s killing me watching you killing yourself!”

“Not about the fat, boy, we all know he’s fat. Are ya comin or not?” Sarge interrupted.

“Yes.” 

“No, he’s not.” Lydia’s voice betrayed fear.

“I need to grab a few things but then we can go.” Simmons stared down his mother. He wondered where this courage had been hiding, neatly boxed away, organized, filed, and hidden. But, just like Grif, it had come tumbling along, making a mess of everything he had carefully planned. And, also just like Grif, it had come along exactly when he needed it.

“I brought boxes!” Donut lilted. The team filed in, pushing past a stunned Mrs. Simmons. 

“I… I don’t have that much to pack. All of my stuff that was with me at school is boxed in the garage, and, well, I’d rather not be chased down for taking anything that doesn’t ‘belong’ to me, though what does that mean,  _ to belong _ , I mean, stuff is stuff, the person who…”His voice shook, was this really the right choice? It was too late now. He forced himself to finish, “There’s just a few things. Memorabilia, figurines, a comic book collection...” 

“You’re such a fucking nerd.” Grif’s voice was a reassurance to his fears.

Donut got to work wrapping anything that looked breakable, Sarge went into the closet and grabbed everything in a shade of red and nothing else, and Grif rooted himself beside Simmons. He leaned his weight to his right foot so as to press their sides together.

“Do you want this?” He’d point to some book and wait for Simmons to nod, too nervous to speak anything. If he vocalized it, it’d be real. He was leaving behind his home. Maybe for good. Maybe to never return and be lost and confused and parentless for good, why was he doing this? Was there really a good reason? Could he take it back now? “How about this one?” Simmons forced himself back for air. He nodded, not even sure what Grif had pointed to. Grif continued to toss objects into boxes at random (much to Donut’s chagrin  _ He’ll never find anything once we move him in! _ ).

They made quick work of his room. He hesitated before shutting the door and looked to Grif who nodded with understanding eyes. He smiled gently. Simmons swallowed and shut the door on a childhood of fear and want. He didn’t know if it was the right decision, but it would be worth finding out.

They carried their boxes down the stairs, past Lydia who had only moved to grab a box of cigarettes and chain smoke them anxiously. They made their way to the two trucks in the driveway, Simmons shouted hello over the mariachi music Lopez was blasting from the company truck. He gave a curt nod in reply. Simmons left Donut and Sarge to load up the truck with the 4 boxes full of nerdy knick knacks and textbooks. Grif followed him back to the house.

“You don’t have to do this. Richard, you can take the boxes back in before your father gets here. He’ll never know, I certainly won’t tell him.” Lydia snapped from her reverie. Her hand shot out to latch onto Simmons’ wrist.

“I. No. I. Mom. Please.” He sputtered. “Mom. You made a choice. I’m making mine.” He looked at the nearly fully faded bruises on her arm. “You don’t have to do this either.” He fought his hand back from her grasp.

“Think about what you’re doing, for one second, Richard! Think of how this will  _ ruin this family. _ ” Her voice took on a familiar shrillness. 

“All due respect, ma’am,” Donut’s voice came from the doorway. “I don’t think  _ he’s  _ the one who ruined your family. Don’t get me wrong, I believe good loving can leave some bruises, but not like those!” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She snapped, but pulled her arms in defensively.

“Well, I’m only saying- Oh boy! Looks like daddy’s home!” The black SUV pulled into the drive. Simmons’ eyes met his mother’s, displaying mirrored jolts of fear.

“We need to go, we need to go, we need to go, we need to go, we  **need to go!** ” Simmons tried to shove away but the door to the garage slammed in the kitchen. It was too late for his flight response to save him. Grif steadied his heart by reaching for his hand.

“Lydia?!” Richard Sr.’s voice shook all the way to the foyer. Simmons felt a bolt of cold air that did not exist. “What in the hell-” He rounded the corner, his face as red as his hair. A wave of realization hit him and a grim smile took over his face. He pointed lazily between Donut and Grif, “Well… Which one is it, boy?” 

“Oh not me! Simmons isn’t really my type; a bit too  _ string bean _ for my-” Donut began.

“Shut your mouth,  _ faggot. _ ” Donut’s mouth snapped shut though his eyes burned with indignation. “So it’ll be the fat one, eh Richard?” Grif’s hand wrapped tighter around Simmons’. He could feel the nerves move through the jittering of his fingers.

The room fell in the silence that followed.

“Appears you’ve been lying to me just like I thought.” Simmons’ father crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Well, are you ready to admit to your dysfunction?” 

Simmons looked down, unable to answer. Grif was bristling beside him.

“You know, this seems like a  _ you  _ kind of problem. Because whatever the fuck we’re doing isn’t bothering me, it isn’t bothering your son, and considering god hasn’t come down to smite Donut yet; I don’t think the big guy has any problem with who touches whoever’s dick.” Simmons looked out of the corner of his eye at Grif. Distantly, in a dream-like memory, Simmons could recall the one time Grif had ever been that mad in front of him. A hospital bed, his mother’s condescending voice, an argument about God again. Grif was breathing heavy through his nose. Simmons held on tight, it was his turn to steady Grif from his emotions. Jesus, when they got out of this there would be an absolute ban on any feelings for at least a year.

“It is true. If God had an issue with the gays he’d come for me first. Or at least I’d hope he would. I could probably change his mind though. I am  _ very  _ persuasive.” Donut’s typical response lacked his normal glee. He directed himself back to his coworkers. “Either way, I think it’s a good time we leave.” 

“You all need to get the  _ hell  _ out of my house.” Mr. Simmons rose to his full height and tore his fingers into a fist. “You hear me?! If any of you, you, homos are in my house in the next five minutes, I’ll make sure you never come back.” 

Donut lifted his chin and backed out. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Simmons pulled at Grif’s hand to follow their teammate, but he resisted.

“You’re a grade-A asshole, Mr. Simmons. Just thought I’d let ya know.” Grif stepped toward Simmons’ father at the same time Simmons’ father raised his fist. 

Simmons felt his life tearing apart as he shut his eyes and stepped between the blow. He staggered against the hit and crashed into the wall. Grif rushed to him, his hand immediately cradling his face. Blood dripped from his mouth and into Grif’s hand. Before he could begin to comfort, Simmons’ father latched his hands onto Grif’s shoulders, tearing him off his son. Grif stumbled to stop the next shot, but the fist collided all the same. Simmons’ mother’s pleas blended into her son’s cries. The disconcerting sound of knuckles against flesh continued regardless. 

“I reckon it’s time we go.” A new voice entered the chaos. Cardinal’s manager walked in from the doorway. He took three smooth steps, lifted his arm to halt Mr. Simmons’ continued assault, and shook his head sadly. “Ain’t nothin’ worse than havin’ a son so eager to please and so damn good at it, and a father who wants to spit in the face of ‘im. Go get in the car, son. Grif! Help him out.” Grif forced himself between the men and pulled Simmons out. They staggered to the doorway with Simmons’ head on Grif’s shoulder.

“You walk out that door,” Mr. Simmons wiped his sweat soaked face with the back of his arm. “You never come back, Richard. You won’t ever be my son.” Simmons didn’t look behind him as his feet crossed the threshold to the unknown. “Well good riddance. I never asked for a faggot for a son!” He spit after the pair.

“I’ll be there in a minute boys.” Sarge announced as they trailed out to his personal truck. 

Grif aided Simmons into the back of the cab. He dried his tears with gentle swipes of his finger and calming hush sounds. Simmons wrapped himself into Grif’s chest as his body wracked with the weight of his fear and pain. Grif pulled him back to wipe the blood with the hem of his shirt. “We’re never going back. You never have to go back. I got you. We got you.” Grif soothed.

The boys startled as Sarge threw open the door, clambering in. He shook his right hand as though in pain. “Time to go.” Simmons sat up with haste. His eyes widened as they registered Sarge’s busted knuckles.

“You punched my dad?!” He shrieked, sending some blood spittle onto Grif.

“He ain’t your dad anymore.” The truck revved up and hightailed out of the driveway. “Just an asshole who needed to be punched.”

“You know what, nice one, Sarge.” Grif clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, dirtbag.” Sarge shuddered at his nicety to his least favorite person. “For the record, the only mistake you’re makin’ is choosin’ the world’s worst deli boy as a boy toy, or lover, or whatever you homosexuals say.”

“Donut would say boyfriend.” Simmons offered far too quickly. He looked over at Grif, not exactly his boyfriend, but not exactly only a friend. Grif peeked at him for a moment. At the realization that they were staring at each other both boys snapped their heads in the opposite direction.

“He’s just Simmons. And I’m still just Grif. It doesn’t concern you.” Grif muttered.

“Right, right. Keep it like that. That’s the Cardinal way! You did learn something, Grif!” Sarge laughed and turned up the stereo to blast polka music the rest of the way home.

Grif grabbed Simmons’ hand and held it firmly in his lap, swearing to himself he wouldn’t ever let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it to the finale. I know a while ago I said only two chapter left, then proceeded to write like 4 more, but I've actually completed the whole thing. There is a somewhat last chapter/epilogue to come, and two follow up fics planned!! They'll probably be pretty obvious when 13/epilogue is out.   
> Thank you to everyone who has been keeping up and reading. This chapter was so much a driving force. When I was driving a lot (had interviews in another part of the state) I concocted this scene and thought I would never write it. Too self indulgent, too dramatic, too this, too that. But here it is. And I am so pleased with the result.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to everyone who has read this fic so far. The support you guys have shown me has been overwhelming and makes writing a genuine pleasure, so thank you for that. Especially to Yin, who quite honestly keeps me writing some days. You're an incredible author and having even a bit of the amazing and consistent support you give me and so many others is wonderful. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

The minute hand ticks by to mark another hour of Simmons trying to stare through the aisles to see the deli. He opens his mouth and immediately closes it for the 8th time this hour. Tucker groans behind him.

“Take your fucking 10 man. I am so tired of watching you idiots try to figure your shit out. Just go to talk to him and get it over with!” Tucker slams his fist into the checkout counter. 

“I have absolutely zero idea what you’re talking about, Tucker. There’s no one I need to talk to, and nothing to figure out.” Simmons straightens some of the candy bars from behind the register.

“Grif. You two have the most sexual tension I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen so much porn, dude.”

“If you’re trying to tell me you watch porn with a plotline I do not believe you.” Simmons raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t change the subject!” Tucker calls out in exasperation. “For some dumbass reason the two of you are upset at each other and it’s killing everyone. Donut won’t shut up about how you guys are so in love. For the record, I think you’re just boning and Grif fucked something up so you two stopped. But really you need to go back because you’re both- hey? Where are you going?” Tucker watches as Simmons walks away from the till.

“I’m taking my 10!” Simmons’ voice cracks.

* * *

 

Sarge pulled up to the Grif’s apartment complex with Donut close behind. It was already dark out as they each carried a box up the steps in total silence. Everyone stood awkwardly in the living room as Simmons surveyed the cramped space he would have to learn to call home. A sob caught in his throat as the crew put the boxes on the floor. He held in his breath, fully aware that the moment he released would be the dropping of the floodgates. 

“We’re glad to have you back.” Donut put a light hand on his shoulder momentarily and turned to Sarge, “We should get the truck back.”

Simmons waved quickly, looking down. He would say thank you whenever he was physically capable of it. Sarge nodded and lead the way out, leaving Grif an uncomfortable distance from Simmons, who was still clutching his box and changing shade to a near purple.

“Breathe, dude.” He closed the gap and pried the box from his hands. As he went to put it with the others he heard Simmons shaky breath closing with a squeak of pain. Grif went back to him and grabbed his hand. “So this is home.” With one hand lazily pointing out the sights and the other gently petting his hand, Grif leaned into Simmons. “That’s the bathroom. That’s the kitchen; help yourself to anything. That’s the bedroom.” 

Simmons followed the finger soundlessly. Grif walked him over to the room. He pushed the door open and was reminded that he had had a visitor before bringing Simmons home.

“Donut wanted to make sure you felt welcome… in case you did come back with us. And Sarge bought new sheets, because mine we’re ‘too gross and not in Cardinal’s approved colors’.” A small banner declaring ‘Welcome’ hung over the bed freshly made in maroon sheets. Everything was neatly put away (something Simmons knew was not the norm without ever having been in the room before). Grif tried to read his expression but he was all glass eyes and thin lips. Simmons detached his hand from Grif’s and lowered himself to the bed soundlessly.

“So, ugh, The top drawer is all yours, man. I don’t know how much of your clothes we brought, but you’re welcome to any of my stuff.” Grif reached into a drawer and pulled out a large hoodie and a pair of basketball shorts. He walked over to Simmons, squatting in front of him and presenting the clothes. Simmons stared at the offering, still trying to hold himself together. 

Simmons eyed it. A tear dropped from his lashes and his eyes shot up to meet Grif’s. Almost embarrassed, he rushed at the hoodie and buried his face in it just before he finally broke. His voice came strangled and muffled from the worn fabric but it broke Grif’s heart. He stood up and pulled Simmons into him, wrapping his arms tightly around his lover and resting his chin on his head.

“You never have to go back there. You’re safe. You’re here. You’re  _ home. _ ” Grif did not ask for an explanation, and he didn’t respond beyond that and murmuring quiet hush noises into Simmons’ hair. He let Simmons cry into his chest until he couldn’t anymore. The tears gone dry, he fell silent. Grif sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing circles into Simmons’ back when he spoke.

“I don’t have a dad anymore.” His voice sounded distant and torn, but still Simmons.

“Dude. I’m pretty sure Sarge is your dad now. I think punching your old dad makes him your new dad. Like there has to be a rule somewhere.” Simmons laughter, though pained, warmed Grif. “And Simmons, you’ve always had a family. It may be stupid, and awful, and terrible at doing pretty much anything… But Cardinal’s is family.”

Simmons pushed back to look up at Grif. “What about you?”

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” Simmons frowned with watery eyes. Grif positioned Simmons’ face upward and leaned down to kiss him softly on the lips. “I’m never going anywhere.”

 

* * *

 

The bell rings in Grif’s ear and he shoots awake. Simmons’ smug face slowly clarifies in his eyes. He starts to smile then remembers they’re not talking (doesn’t remember why) and frowns.

“Walk-in.” Simmons’ voice has that stupid annoying demanding tone. Grif doesn’t know why, but he gets up to let Simmons behind the deli and the two head to the massive chiller.

Grif shuts the door and turns to face Simmons. Without notice, Simmons hands are in Grif’s hair, his body is pressed into Grif’s, his lips are gliding over Grif’s face, his breath smells like coffee in a way that feels like home. Grif pulls himself from Simmons. Don’t they hate each other right now?

“I don’t even remember.” Simmons reads Grif’s mind. “Don’t remind me if you do!” He snaps in his stupid shrill voice. Grif wraps his fingers into Simmons’ hands and looks up into his eyes.

“Whatever, man. So, are we back to…” He doesn’t have a description for this. “Grif and Simmons?”

“It’s always Grif and Simmons.” Simmons rolls his eyes like it’s obvious.

“Yeah but are we, like, you know?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to be?” Simmons closes in a little more, leaning down to press his forehead against Grif’s. “Because we can if that’s what you want. If you don’t then-” He shoots back.

“Yeah, let’s be GrifAndSimmons.” Grif pulls Simmons back in and lands a large, sloppy kiss against Simmons’ lips.

“I never said thank you. For… I don’t know, saving me?” Simmons barely pulls away to whisper against Grif’s lips.

“You never needed to. I’d do it again, like, a hundred times over.” Grif kisses lightly. They carry on like this in the middle of the walk-in until Simmons pulls back with the expression Grif immediately recognizes as his level 8 pissed off face.

“The bet, you asshole!” Simmons turns smartly and leaves the walk-in. 

“Oh yeah… fuck.” Grif groans. So damn close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And FIN. Thank you to all my readers who have waited so patiently for this last chapter, and sorry it took so long! My life has just exploded recently, and due to recent fandom related things I've felt really uninspired. But I've always known I had to finish this (and the rap one, I know, I know) so I'm so so so happy to get this out here for you guys!!
> 
> I had mentioned two follow-up style fics. One is, most predictably, about this Bet and how it drove them apart. It's definitely going to be short and funny (none of this angst!). The other is a peek at domestic Grimmons life, which is going to be more like this with way less parental abuse. However, it will go through relationship building, recovery style things, and also more of the cute everyone's favorite squabbling. I know I took an unintentional writing break, but it might be a bit before I get back to any of this. I would suggest subscribing to my Grocery Store AU if you want to make sure you get these follow ups!


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